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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27528037">Beautiful Ruin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adanie_Josaeh/pseuds/Adanie_Josaeh'>Adanie_Josaeh</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon - Book, Canon Era, F/M, Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, mostly - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 22:28:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>37,653</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27528037</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adanie_Josaeh/pseuds/Adanie_Josaeh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“He asked me to dismiss him,” Jon repeated, shaking his head.  “He and I agreed it would be the best course of action.”</p><p>Sansa’s shoulders sagged and she backed away, putting more space between them.  Sandor had asked to be dismissed.  Maybe he wanted to be away from her.  Maybe it had occurred to him that loving her was just too much of a hassle considering what Jon had likely put him through.  She wondered if he was still here, and if he was, if she would be allowed to tell him good-bye before he left.</p><p>Jon’s hand came down on her shoulder and he waited until she finally met his eyes again.  He was blurry through her tears, but she could make out a strange little smirk playing on his mouth just beneath his mustache.</p><p>“After all,” Jon said gently, “It would be highly irregular for your future husband to remain in your service.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Sansa begins to feel the pressure from all the expectations that she marry, but she holds out hope for another option.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>313</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I need another work in progress like I need a hole in the head, but here we are.</p><p>Honestly, this story has been sitting around for over a year and I just never finished it.  I have about 6 chapters completely written, and then just a bunch of scenes.  I'm posting because I figured it's better to put at least some of the story out there rather than keeping all of it hidden forever.  </p><p>Also, if any of you read Skin Deep, I'm just gonna come clean and say writer's block has struck me HARD with that story.  I'm not abandoning it, but everything I've written for it lately is utter crap, so I'm just going to take a break from it for a while.</p><p>Anyone of you who have read Missing You....also not abandoned, but...I, uh, lost everything that was written (because I'm a dummy who was still trying to use a flash drive and Microsoft Word - I've since switched to Google Docs so hopefully it will never happen again) and I was so crushed about losing everything I haven't been able to make myself rewrite what I lost because that story was completely finished minus some editing and it just...disappeared.  I'll get back to it too, I promise, but I just needed a break from it.</p><p>Anywho, so here's this, set in canon-era and it's a book-canon fic for the most part.  Updates will be extremely spotty, but I hope y'all enjoy.  ALSO, Sansa is aged up.  Let's say BBB happened when she was about 15-16.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hiding in my own Godswood.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa Stark sat on a felled log, deep in the Godswood, far from the glass gardens and the Heart Tree, in hopes that she would not be found.  She felt like a child again, running away to avoid something that she did not wish to face.  Ironically, she had rarely hidden from unpleasant duties as a child; hiding from unpleasant social situations had been more Arya’s practice, but just now she was in no mood to be courted.  She toyed with the end of her long braid, wondering how long she could keep this up without someone finding her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps I should have gone for a long ride instead.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa almost laughed at the desperation of her own thoughts.  First, there was no way she would go unnoticed in the stables.  Second, she was truly a weak rider and staying gone all day was not something she could commit to.  She would have been seen, too, if she had tried to get away to the winter town for an extended period of time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I could have hidden in the brothel</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, knowing that it was the last place anyone would look for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was all Jon’s fault, really.  Though it was Rickon who was called Lord Stark, the youngest of her siblings cared little for lordship.  He was fourteen years old - old enough that he should be taking his responsibilities more seriously if he’d had a normal childhood, but he hadn’t, so Jon and Sansa tended to overlook much of his immaturity and had hope that he would still grow into his role one day.  But for now, their bastard brother Jon Snow was assisting him.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Though he isn’t our brother by blood or a bastard at all</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  She pushed those thoughts away.  His birth name and the circumstances surrounding it mattered little now that Jon had made his choice to be who he’d always been – Ned Stark’s bastard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except now, Jon was acting like a lord when Rickon fell short of the task; not least by suggesting that she should marry.  He tried to handle the marriage issue delicately by gently prodding  at her in an attempt to ascertain her plan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a young maiden, Sansa,” he would say, giving her an apologetic look.  “The amount of ravens we receive regarding a marriage with you is astounding.  Do you not want children?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa had always found a polite way to change the subject, though it was beginning to wear on her.  Sansa didn’t think that Jon would ever make her choose, or worse, choose for her, but she knew that the barrage of inquiries regarding her hand was fraying his nerves.  And now, to make matters worse, suitors were beginning to visit Winterfell to meet the most eligible unmarried woman in the North, and possibly the Seven Kingdoms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Twenty-two years old, married twice, and still a maiden</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  If it weren’t causing her so much annoyance lately, the situation would have made her laugh.  Tyrion had never touched her and she had only seen him once since the wars had ended, at which time he had released her officially from the marriage with the assistance of the High Septon.  Her second marriage, which technically took place before her annulment, may have never been legal in the first place.  In any case, Harry had gotten too drunk at their wedding feast and then promptly picked a fight with the wrong person.  He’d been mortally wounded and took days in dying, thus leaving that marriage unconsummated as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of a throat being cleared startled Sansa so badly that she leapt off the log and nearly tripped on her skirts.  Once she had righted herself, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment, she looked up to find her sworn shield standing not ten feet away, looking at her with something like amusement threatening to contort his usual stoic features.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa stood up straight and lifted her chin, desperately trying to regain the appearance of grace and elegance.  Her words to him didn’t reflect that though.  “What is it?” She said rudely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor Clegane’s deep rumble of a laugh made her roll her eyes and she gave him a glare as he came to stand next to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Little bird,” he said, almost affectionately, “why are you hiding in the woods?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa bent to brush some invisible dirt off her skirts to avoid meeting his eyes.  “I needed some peace and quiet, which you just happened to interrupt, ser.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His grey eyes narrowed at her and she felt a bit of triumphant joy at knowing exactly which tender spots to poke at to harmlessly annoy him.  She smiled serenely at him, utterly ignoring his look, which she was sure he thought was terribly ferocious and frightening.  She supposed it would be seen as such to most people, but she knew him better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When you need peace and quiet,” he said, “you normally don’t sneak away to find a dead tree to sit on.  Usually that weirwood is good enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps I was worried I’d be disturbed,” she sniffed indignantly.  “Seems as though </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>happened anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor Clegane crossed his massive arms over his chest and straightened to his full height, cocking his head to the side in a look that told her he believed she was full of dragon shit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa let out a very unladylike huff and looked away from him.  “I’ve found that I don’t wish to be hounded by Beren Tallhart or Larence Hornwood, or whoever else showed up the last couple of days.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cousins had been promising to visit for a while now and wound up arriving at the same time.  The two got on well, considering they were competing for the hand of the same lady.  There had been a conflict amongst them some time ago over which of the two would inherit the Hornwood lands.  Stannis Baratheon had legitimized Halys Hornwood’s bastard son, who promptly claimed his father’s titles.  The Tallharts, who were in opposition to this and felt that their son, Beren, had the better claim as the late Lady Donella’s nephew, were placated when Rickon (Jon) offered Beren the Dreadfort  since House Bolton was extinct.  The compromise had gone over well and the cousins had become friends and seemed to delight in their friendly competition over Sansa.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor snorted at the word “hounded” and gave her what might have been a terrifying grin, had she not known better.  “But you’re fine with being hounded by the Hound?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only sometimes,” she quipped.  “And you aren’t tormenting me about marriage.  You’re only doing your job.”  She thought for a moment and then added, “And you are no longer the Hound.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded in agreement, then gave her an expectant look.  “Done with hiding, Lady Stark?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” she said defiantly.  “Go tell Jon you couldn’t find me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head in amusement, but didn’t leave.  Instead he sat down on the felled log, his long legs comically bent to his chest.  When he noticed Sansa watching him in amusement, he frowned at her and straightened his legs out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That can’t be comfortable, ser,” she said happily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t need comfort,” he grunted, pulling out his dagger to clean under his nails.  “My job is to watch you, so that’s what I’ll do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I ordered you away,” she protested jokingly.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged.  “Job is to protect you, even from your own stupid plans.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I doubt anyone within these walls will cause me harm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged again.  “I guard you outside the walls, inside the walls, and even within the keep.  Terminate my service if it bothers you, my lady,” he sneered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again, had she not known him, she might think he was truly being hateful.  Being that Sansa was utterly familiar with all of his mannerisms, she wasn’t affected in the slightest, outside of amusement.  She heaved a great sigh and walked back to the log to sit beside him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How long do you think they will stay?” Sansa asked him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Until you speak with them,” Sandor said, still busily picking under his nails.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think that if I told them to go away and never come back that they would listen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not very courteous,” he said, cutting his eyes to the side to look at her, the burnt corner of his mouth twitching in what Sansa suspected was amusement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re truly unhelpful,” she complained.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor sheathed his dagger and looked over at her.  “Why the aversion to all the pretty little lords coming to see you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve already been married twice,” she said unnecessarily.  “Why should I have to do it again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Haven’t been truly married,” Sandor remarked.  If it had been any other man-at-arms in her service, she might have blushed at the implication that the words carried.  She didn’t blush.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if I want to be an old maid?” Sansa asked thoughtfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor shook his head.  “I’ve seen you with children, little bird.  If for nothing else, that’s why you should be more open to marriage.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was right about the children of course, though she wasn’t about to tell him that.  Sansa took every opportunity available to get her hands on a baby or a small child.  She had been seen kissing the cheeks of the baby that had belonged to one of the women who worked in the kitchen.  She had run and played in the Godswood with the kennel master’s small children.  Any time she ventured into the winter town she always found a baby to hold whose mother was more than happy to indulge Ned Stark’s eldest daughter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can spoil Rickon’s children,” she said, trying to ignore the fact that her baby brother was not ready for marriage.  While he was old enough by society’s standards, his maturity issues left a lot to be desired when it came to finding him a wife.  Jon was not married either, and since he had chosen to remain a bastard, he didn’t have very many prospects, nor did he want any.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or the she-wolf’s,” Sandor deadpanned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa snickered.  “Arya would gut you if she heard you say such.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She could try.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa was quiet for a moment, wondering if she shouldn’t just take Sandor’s advice and pick a husband already.  Jon had begged her to just get to know the men.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You won’t know if you like them until you give them a chance,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jon often told her.  Sansa imagined that being the sister of the Warden of the North truly made her an attractive marriage prospect.  The fact that she was still a maid only made her more enticing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who all has arrived?”  Sansa turned to him, knowing that he understood what she meant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just the two you named, Tallhart and Hornwood, though Lord Stark mentioned others who might visit.  Two from the Riverlands whose names I recognized.  Patrek Mallister is one.  The other is Hoster Blackwood.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t Patrek Mallister have a reputation…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For whoring and drinking?  Aye, he does.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know anything of Hoster Blackwood?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lord Stark said he was bookish,” he thought for a moment.  “Probably weak.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s unkind,” Sansa said.  “You don’t know that he’s weak just because he likes books.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If he’s too busy reading books, he has no time to train,” Sandor grunted.  “Might be you like the bookish sort?”  He raised an eyebrow at her and she watched the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Might be I do,” Sansa said haughtily.  But after a few moments, she was back to complaining.  “I suppose I’ll have to entertain them at dinner?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll be expected to entertain them outside dinner,” Sandor reminded her, his brow creasing distractedly.  “They’ll want you to go riding with them, give them a tour of the Godswood and the hot springs, travel with them into the winter town.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa nodded, swallowing back a sick feeling.  She could easily say that she refused to do those things, but then her need to be courteous was so strong that she doubted she could follow through with it.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why can’t I be more like Arya?” She wondered aloud.  She could feel his eyes on her when he turned, and she knew he must be giving her a quizzical look.  “Arya doesn’t care what anyone else wants out of her.  Arya would send them away without a second thought.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye,” Sandor agreed.  “Your brother knows it too.  Why do you think he’s never pressed the marriage issue with her?”  There was a bitter note to his voice that Sansa didn’t quite understand.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya had a lover who lived in the winter town, Sansa knew that.  She imagined that Sandor knew too, given how close the two of them were.  He was a handsome young blacksmith who, at one time, had been offered a position at Winterfell.  He had declined, but he’d settled near enough to the castle.  Arya had eventually admitted to the affair, and Sansa had felt a little scandalized that her sister was being so open about such intimate matters.  She thought Arya would embarrass herself further once she had moved on from the blacksmith, but surprisingly, Arya kept only to his bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fact that Arya had a history with the handsome armorer had only been explained later.  Once Sansa pieced together that Arya was </span>
  <em>
    <span>in love</span>
  </em>
  <span> with the blacksmith, she had felt guilty about her judgment of Arya’s activities.  It was actually quite romantic.  Apparently Arya and the man, Gendry, had traveled together for some time after Eddard Stark had been executed.  When the former traveling companions had found one another years later, the bond between them was still strong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa’s eyes flicked to Sandor, who was staring off into the forest, looking bored.  She knew that Arya had traveled with him as well and that they had become friends since reuniting.  Arya had grown into a beauty – a wild beauty, yes, but Sansa imagined that Sandor would admire those kinds of qualities, being a bit wild himself.  She had noted his bitterness when they had spoken of Arya and wondered if he was bitter because Arya was so devoted to her blacksmith.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa had no trouble admitting that she was jealous of Arya.  Her little sister had everything that she had dreamed of as a girl, even if it was disguised under a different surface.  Sansa had dreamed of romance, it was true.  Joffrey had destroyed her dreams rather quickly, but a part of her always held onto the hope that she would find love.  There had been times when she had almost given up on her dream because of the terrible things she had been through, but still she held to it, believing that if her parents could have it, maybe she could as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya had never wanted any such thing, but here she was, sneaking away to the winter town most days to see her lover.  Sansa had seen them together on only a handful of occasions, but she had noticed immediately the difference in Arya.  Around Gendry, Arya was less angry, less hard, less cold…she bloomed like a flower in his presence and her smiles came so much easier.  Sansa was overcome with happiness for her sister, truly, but she was jealous as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa had only ever felt the first stirrings of what might have been love, but had immediately tamped it down.  Because the one person who stirred those feelings in her was a lost cause, and she just couldn’t face the longing or rejection that would come with chasing that feeling.  And so, Sansa had found happiness in other things, and secretly hoped she could get over her lovesick bout so that one day she could find someone else that might stir those feelings in her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So far, it had not happened, and so she sat next to her sworn shield, pondering how and if she could get out of this mess.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa finally stood from her seat on the log and dusted off the back of her skirts.  Sandor rose with her, his grey eyes studying her intently as though he was trying to puzzle out what she would do.  She lowered her eyes and began her trek through the Godswood, her shield following a pace behind her.  She noticed the additional men that had come along with their lords as she passed through the yard.  Several of them murmured in greeting, their eyes wide with appreciation.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hardly affected Sansa anymore that people thought her beautiful.  Beauty had only ever caused her trouble and so she fought the urge to be sour about their ogling and instead offered a smile.  She climbed the stairs up to her chambers.  Sandor’s feet made no noise as he walked behind her, and not for the first time, she was impressed at how such a large man could move so quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor nodded to her even as she opened her mouth to dismiss him, but something on her face must have stopped him because he turned back to her, concern sparking in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My lady?” He rasped.  She knew he used the title only for the benefit of anyone who may be lurking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shook her head.  “It’s nothing.  I just…don’t want to do this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinked in confusion, clearly not understanding why it sounded like she was pleading with him.  “I can’t help you with this, little bird.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa breathed out heavily and turned back to her room, shutting the door before she could look at him again.  Tears stung her eyes and she furiously scrubbed at her face.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re the only one in the world who could help me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>We find out what Sandor thinks about this whole mess.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor returned to Sansa’s door when it was time to collect her for the evening meal.  He could hear her stirring around in there, likely with a handmaiden, as she finished dressing.  The little bird had displayed odd behavior earlier in the day.  First, Sansa had hidden in the Godswood to avoid guests, which considering her courteous nature, was very strange.  Second, she had looked as though she were near tears when she had disappeared into her room earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor huffed in frustration as he thought back on it.  It wasn’t too terribly surprising that the thought of marrying someone made her want to cry.  She had been betrothed to a monster, married to the Imp, and then married to a little shit-stain who couldn’t keep his cock in his pants.  The best thing Harrold Hardyng had ever done was drunkenly challenge Sandor to a duel, to which he promptly lost.  If at first Sandor had been worried that his little bird would never forgive him for murdering her husband, his fears had been quickly allayed when she thanked him instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hardyng wouldn’t have been able to provide Sansa any happiness, Sandor knew that.  He also understood that Sansa had little trust for any men outside her family with good reason.  He still wasn’t sure how </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> had gained her trust, being the big, scary, murderous Hound, but it was clear she trusted him with her life.  A small part of him, the part that still had a bit of lingering Hound, wanted to run off Sansa’s suitors just to ease her anxiety.  The part of him that was well-aware that Sansa was quite a tempting marriage match understood where her brother was coming from as well.  Sandor hated it, but he also understood that it was just how the world worked.  Young maidens from noble houses were expected to marry and Sansa had not yet been spoken for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door behind him clicked open and Sansa emerged with her maid, only barely concealing a pout.  She had changed from her usual grey wool dress to an ivory dress with a grey direwolf stitched to the bodice.  It was still wool, of course, because this was the North and it was bloody cold, but it was considerably more attractive than the dress she had worn earlier.  She had taken her braid down and her auburn hair fell in waves over her shoulders and down her back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa caught him inspecting her attire and said, “I thought of wearing a shapeless brown dress and covering my hair with a shawl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor held out his arm in an “after you” gesture and Sansa slowly made her way to the staircase, Sandor following his usual pace behind her.  He mentally tried to prepare himself for the men who would be ogling his little bird.  She was an attractive potential match on paper, but he knew that once the men set their eyes on her, they would double down on their efforts to win her hand.  He was sure that there were tales of her beauty, but that wasn’t uncommon among any noble house who had an available maiden.  Oftentimes, the tales were exaggerated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Sansa was a stunning woman and that was an objective observation.  In his more biased opinion, she was the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms and he supposed that perhaps there may be </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>who could contend with her…just none he’d ever laid eyes on.  Sandor was grateful that his time on the Quiet Isle had muted his anger because with his old rage he would never have been able to handle some highborn cunt slobbering over his little bird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They arrived in the Great Hall, which seemed large and empty considering this was little more than a family meal.  Jon Snow didn’t like to allow guests into  Lord Rickon’s private solar for meals though, and anyone outside the family joining them for meals did so in the Great Hall.  There were enough seats up on the dais that everyone could sit comfortably.</span>
  
  <span>The young Lord Stark was pouting, as though he’d rather be anywhere else than hosting guests at dinnertime, and Sandor noted that his wolf was nowhere around, which was likely not helping his mood.  Jon Snow sat beside him, clearly trying to explain something to his little brother, to which his response was an exaggerated eye roll.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Have your hands full with that one, don’t you, Snow.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It appeared as though Sansa was a bit late in her arrival because the visiting cousins were already in attendance as well, and they immediately rose from their seats when she entered the room.  She gave a polite smile and a nod, but said nothing else as Sandor pulled her chair out for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Larence Hornwood eyed the action with a critical eye, likely wondering why a sworn shield would perform such a gesture, but Sandor just met his stare with a steely glare of his own.  The Hornwood lad quickly looked away.  The new Lord of the Dreadfort tried to catch Sansa’s hand, presumably to press a kiss on it, but the table was too wide for such an action so it came across as more of an awkward handshake.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am pleased to finally enjoy your company, Lady Sansa,” Larence Hornwood said.  Sandor was disappointed to note that he was a handsome young man with a dimple in his cheek.  Apparently, women loved dimples.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aye, and likely men with two good cheeks</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought grouchily.  He cheered only slightly when he remembered that the Hardyng cunt had also had a dimple and Sansa had never been impressed with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa gave another nod to Lord Hornwood.  “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Lord Hornwood,” she aimed a smile at his cousin, “And you as well, Lord Tallhart.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya Stark strolled in as the meal was being served and took a seat near the end of the table.  It appeared she had been out riding because dust covered the legs of her breeches and was caked on her face.  Her hair was in disarray.  She hadn’t even bothered to clean up.  Sandor couldn’t see Sansa’s face, but his lady must have shot her sister a fierce look because Arya first looked sheepish, then smirked back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m starving,” she said by way of explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon Snow didn’t seem the least bit bothered by Arya’s behavior or appearance, but then, she wasn’t the one he was trying to marry off.  He simply smiled at his sister and said, “We’re hosting guests,” he nodded to each of the men as he introduced them.  Arya managed a polite nod back.  Peculiarly, the Tallhart boy couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the dust-covered she-wolf.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’d have a better chance with Sansa</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sandor thought, watching the Lord of the Dreadfort’s eyes track each of Arya’s small movements.  She was either completely oblivious or didn’t care, as she dug into her meal without any hint that he was distracting her.  The rest of the occupants chatted politely through dinner.  Sansa spoke only when spoken to, and Rickon wasn’t faring much better, but Arya joined in the discussions with her older brother and the other lords about the steady increase in warmth as they all anticipated spring would arrive soon, despite the earlier beliefs that the winter would last over a decade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been a difficult couple of years after Sandor had retrieved Sansa from the Vale.  The cold was persistent and the wars even more so.  With the help of Stannis Baratheon, Winterfell had been retaken.  Stannis had fallen in battle, and then his wife had succumbed to the harsh conditions of winter.  But his daughter was now Lady of Dragonstone and Storm’s End.  Sandor knew that Stannis had meant for Princess Shireen to be his heir to the throne he believed belonged to him, but after her father’s death, Shireen had easily consented to the Dragon Queen taking the throne instead.  And then Daenerys Targaryen, with the help of that bastard brother of Sansa’s - who as it turned out was no bastard at all -  the living had defeated the Others.  Queen Daenerys now ruled in King’s Landing and Jon Snow had been allowed to dissolve the Night’s Watch now that its purpose was obsolete.  He had also brokered a peace with the wildlings.  Jon Snow had been instrumental in defeating the Others and was hailed as a hero all across the continent.  Sandor had noted since the defeat of the Others, the days had grown longer and the temperature warmer.  It was still bloody cold in the North, of course, but that was a fate he’d resigned himself to when he’d sworn himself to Sansa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After dinner, Sansa excused herself and Sandor escorted her back to her room.  When he made to leave, she grasped his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would-would you come in for a while?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure why she sounded so unsure of herself.  It was not the first time that he’d visited with her in her solar when he wasn’t needed.  Against all odds, she seemed to enjoy his company, and Sandor was content to just be near her most of the time, so he welcomed the times she invited him in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, of course,” he mumbled and followed her in.  His stomach gave a growl because he had not yet eaten.  He normally took his meals in his room.  Sansa raised a brow at the noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can have something brought up for you,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor shrugged.  “Makes no matter, little bird.”  He took a seat in one of the chairs near her fireplace.  When she didn’t immediately sit down across from him, he gave her a searching look.   “What’s wrong with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She set to pacing, back and forth in front of the fireplace, wringing her small hands.  He had learned a measure of patience during his time on the Quiet Isle, but he still wasn’t what anyone would consider a patient man.  After no more than a couple of minutes of enduring her anxious behavior, he snapped, “Seven hells, little bird, would you stop your buggering pacing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Servants didn’t normally speak to their lords and ladies in such a manner, but Sansa knew what she was getting into when she’d accepted him into her service:  protection, yes; honesty, of course; utter and absolute devotion, that was a given; but she also got his temper and his mouth.  Thankfully, those things didn’t seem to bother her any longer.  She stopped her pacing and gave him a cross look, which did little more than amuse him.  Her lack of fear of him that she’d shown in the last couple of years made him proud of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa plopped down into the chair across from him and lifted her chin a bit haughtily.  “That’s no way to speak to your lady, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ser</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” again with the japing, he just rolled his eyes.  “And don’t you think you should be a bit more concerned about my distress?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor knew what was coming; he sighed heavily and made himself more comfortable in his chair, stretching out his long legs until his toes nearly touched hers.  “Take it you mean your distress at being courted?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hand-wringing renewed and she chewed at her full bottom lip, which distracted Sandor to the point he had to casually look away from her.  He studied the crackling flames of the hearth as though they were interesting.  What did that say about her effect on him, that he was more at ease with watching fire than watching her bite into that plump bottom lip of hers?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish I could be more like Arya,” she lamented her earlier sentiment again with a heavy sigh.  “Perhaps if I strolled into the evening meal covered in dust and wearing breeches with my hair all over the place, my suitors wouldn’t be quite so interested in me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor shot her a look of disbelief.  “They’d still be interested,” he rasped, suddenly picturing her with disheveled hair for very different reasons.  “That Tallhart lad couldn’t take his eyes off the wolf-bitch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa wrinkled her perfect little nose at his language.  “Don’t call her that.  And I suppose I was wrong to suggest her appearance would drive people away.  She’s quite pretty,” Sansa looked contemplatively at Sandor, studying him but clearly thinking of something else.  “I suppose it’s her attitude that keeps away unwanted suitors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s as obvious as the scar on my face,” Sandor grumbled.  The she-wolf had never been as warm or polite or kind as Sansa.  And Sandor tended to agree that it was this that made people leave her alone.  Except for that blacksmith lad – he seemed to like her mean attitude and foul mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched her pretty face take on a thoughtful expression.  “Do you think that they would back off if I…if I could manage to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor couldn’t suppress the laugh that rumbled up at the mere suggestion that Sansa would be rude.  “No, little bird, I don’t think you could manage it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She huffed and sat back in her chair, most unladylike, and nudged the toe of his boot with her own.  “What do you suggest then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes traveled from where she had tapped his foot up to her face.  This wasn’t a jape.  Sansa was seriously asking him how she could get out of entertaining any thoughts of betrothal and suitors.  How the fuck was he to know?  He’d never courted anyone and had never had any prospects of marriage, nor had he ever wanted to court anyone.  He didn’t know what behaviors ladies might adopt in order to repel unwanted husbands.  But she looked at him so earnestly, sky blue eyes wide and worried.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way to stop it, little bird,” he told her honestly.  “I doubt Jon Snow would force you to marry.  You’ll just have to endure until the lads grow tired of pursuing you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But how long will that take?  What if, after this round of suitors has exhausted themselves, another group of them crop up to make me miserable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What she spoke of was the most likely scenario.  As long as Sansa Stark was unmarried, there would always be young lords and pretty knights vying for her hand.  Part of him wanted to growl at her to be tough and persevere through it.  It was simple to him:  all she had to do was bear the presence of suitors every once in a while and she could remain free.  It didn’t seem so difficult to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he knew Sansa very well.  His little bird was polite and eager to please and, though she had gained a priceless talent of telling people ‘no’, she didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> confrontation.  He worried that at some point she might break and give in to someone who would only make her miserable, as her last two husbands were destined to have done had the marriages worked out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he didn’t answer her, Sansa continued, “If you were courting a woman, what would she have to do to repel you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barked another laugh because, once again, he felt he wasn’t qualified to answer such a question.  He studied her, sitting across from him, worried sick over the idiots who wanted to marry her, trying desperately to find a way to discourage their attentions.  There was nothing to be done physically to dissuade anyone from courting Sansa.  Even while she vexed over her predicament, line forming on her brow from frowning, she still looked flawless.  The firelight illuminated her hair, lightening the darker strands to reflect the color of the fire.  Bronze and golden highlights winked as she shook her head in confusion.  Her pale skin was flushed from the heat of the fire and turned her cheeks and neck a rosy pink.  He found his eyes traveling down to the hem of her bodice, wondering how far down the blush went.  To make matters worse, she was chewing on that lip again; the very one that had so distracted him a few minutes ago to the point he had to look away.  Sandor watched as her teeth bit into and then raked over the lip, pulling it free as she sighed.  A small, pink tongue darted out to lick at the little twinge of pain her teeth may have left behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was gritting his teeth so hard that he felt a muscle in his jaw begin to tick.  Sansa wasn’t looking at him, but rather staring in the fire with that same expression of concentration, as though she were working out a puzzle of how to best thwart the efforts of her poor suitors.  Nothing about her appearance would ever repel anyone, so Sandor supposed that Sansa was suggesting that she had a personality flaw that might deter them.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a child, she had been very naïve.  She had trusted people who were bound to hurt her and it had angered Sandor to the point that he wanted to shake her; truthfully, he probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> shaken her at some point.  But Sansa had grown into a smart woman and learned that most people were not to be trusted.  Whoever married her would not be binding themselves to a pretty little fool.  Some men likely wanted a fool.  It seemed a weak example of how to drive a man away.  In fact, Sandor could only think of things that might encourage a man to work harder to claim her hand.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was unfailingly polite.  She had a good heart and was kind to everyone she met.  She was good with sums and could therefore assist her lord husband in running the household and keeping the ledger balanced.  She had a good understanding of both how to run a castle inside the walls, as well as outside.  Sansa had sat in court with Rickon, helping him resolve many of the issues that were brought forth by the smallfolk of the winter town, as well as other nearby lords.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor couldn’t think of a thing about her that would repel him had he been the one pursuing her.  And so, keeping his voice casual, Sandor told her so.  “There’s nothing about you that would dissuade me from pursuing you, little bird.  If that’s what I wanted,” he added, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> hastily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa looked a bit disappointed.  “Have I told you lately that you are no help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile pulled at his ruined lips.  “Aye, little bird, at least once today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat up a bit straighter, resuming her ladylike posture with her back straight and away from the chair and her hands folded in her lap.  She opened her mouth as if to say something, then snapped it shut.  She flushed a deeper shade of pink and Sandor wondered what she was about to say that might have embarrassed her.  There was an internal struggle, he noted, as she opened her mouth again, shook her head, heaved a deep sigh, then gained a look of determination.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, she’s decided to go on with it then</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought in amusement as he waited for her to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think,” Sansa said slowly, “that if I weren’t a maiden, perhaps the men would be, ah…less inclined to wed me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor stared at her for several seconds without blinking, so shocked at what had come out of her mouth that for a moment he lost focus on her face as he repeated the sentence in his head.  Then, he blinked rapidly several times, and then cleared his throat.  “Uh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at him expectantly, even as she turned even redder.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brave bird</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” he said again dumbly.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Snap out of it, you buggering fool</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  He mentally shook himself and forced words out of his mouth.  “I…don’t see why that’s important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowned at him and turned her head to the side, much like an actual little bird.  “Sandor, you can’t be serious.  I know that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t care whether or not I’m a maiden,” her eyes widened and darted up to his.  “That is to say,” she rushed on, “I meant that, I know that you don’t care whether a woman is a maiden…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Seven hells, she’s bad at this</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought, trying to suppress a smirk at her obvious discomfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s important,” she said, changing tack, “because men want to believe they are gaining something innocent and pure when they gain a wife.  Something unspoiled and new,” she said the last part with a note of disdain in her voice.  “I suppose that way they can do the spoiling themselves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most lords are cunts,” Sandor growled.  He didn’t like the idea of some puffed up perfumed lordling finding value in only what was or wasn’t between Sansa’s legs.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is why I don’t want to marry,” she said, a bit exasperated.  “If only Tyrion had…or even Harry…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sandor caught onto her meaning, he found he’d gripped the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles were turning white.  “Are you telling me,” he growled quietly, dangerously, “that you wish the Imp or that Hardyng cunt managed to bed you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him another exasperated look and spread her arms out, palms up in futility, “It’s the only thing I can think of that </span>
  <em>
    <span>might</span>
  </em>
  <span> have dissuaded suitors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor’s stomach gave another rumble of hunger and he took that as a sign. He stood from his chair, trying to ignore the disappointed look on his little bird’s face as he headed toward the door.  “Need dinner,” he grunted, showing himself out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without another look back, Sandor shut the door, probably a bit too roughly, and strode down the corridor, trying to rid his mind of the images of another man’s hands all over Sansa.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sister talk.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>The next day, Sansa found herself tugged in several directions.  First, Larence Hornwood wanted a walk in the Godswood.  She politely obliged and managed easy conversation with him.  He was a handsome man around the same age as Sansa.  He told her that his advisors were urging him to marry as well, since House Hornwood had already suffered one crisis in which they were faced with no clear heir.  While Larence was handsome and mannerly, evidently he had encountered a bit of difficulty in finding a bride.  To Sansa’s surprise, it wasn’t his former bastard status that had made it difficult, but Larence’s own hesitancy to marry out of convenience.  It seemed the young lord of Hornwood was a romantic and hadn’t yet found a love match.</p><p>She took her midday meal with Beren Tallhart and her brothers.  Jon was there acting as a chaperone of sorts, while Rickon looked at turns bored and put-upon for having to endure anyone’s company.  Beren did not do well in hiding his interest in her sister though.  Only a few minutes into lunch, Beren had casually asked if Lady Arya would be joining them.  Sansa desperately wanted to tell the young man that Arya was off having a tumble with her blacksmith, but <em> that </em> was something Arya would say, not Sansa.  In truth, Arya was likely taking her midday meal in the kitchen or with the guards.  Outside of dinner, she rarely ate with her family, preferring the company of smallfolk.</p><p>After the meal, Sansa sat down at her desk with the purpose of replying to the letters she had received from Hoster Blackwood and Patrek Mallister.  Both were now expressing interests in visits of their own and Sansa was not ready to invite them.  After considering her words, she wrote to both of them, telling them that they were welcome at any time, of course, but they may want to wait a few weeks as Winterfell was currently hosting Lords Hornwood and Tallhart.  She hoped that this information would discourage them from visiting for a while.  Knowing Sansa’s luck, the exact opposite would happen, and the Riverlanders would decide they liked a challenge and would rush to Winterfell before Sansa could marry either of the Northern lords.</p><p>When Sansa was done with her letters, she looked up and startled, throwing a hand to her chest in surprise.  Arya was standing in front of her desk, arms clasped behind her back, watching her sister with amusement.</p><p>“Is that strictly necessary?” Sansa asked with an uncharacteristic hiss.</p><p>“For that reaction?  Yes,” Arya said.  “You should be used to it by now.”</p><p>“I’m not,” Sansa said.</p><p>“I came to see how your morning stroll went,” Arya smirked.  “And your midday meal, as well.”</p><p>Sansa lifted her chin up proudly, “Both went fine, thank you.  Although, I daresay that the meal would have gone better for Lord Tallhart had you been present.”</p><p><em> That </em> wiped the smirk off her face, which was promptly replaced with a scowl.  “I’m not the one he’s courting.”</p><p>“Is he courting me?”  Sansa asked thoughtfully, unsure if she could be courted if she planned from the beginning to refuse any offers of marriage.</p><p>Arya dropped into the seat on the other side of Sansa’s desk and propped her feet up.  Sansa glared at her sister, who ignored the look as she began picking at the dirt beneath her nails.  “Why are you resisting so much?” Arya asked conversationally.  “I always thought you wanted to be married and have a hundred babies.”</p><p>“I’ve been married,” Sansa reminded her flatly.  “Twice.”</p><p>Arya rolled her eyes, “Yes, yes, <em> married </em>,” she said sarcastically.  “There are no little babies to show for either of those shams.  Of course, you would need to lay with a man in order to…”</p><p>“Arya,” Sansa said in warning.</p><p>“Sansa,” Arya said back, smiling serenely.  Arya’s grey eyes studied her for a moment.  “Are you not even the least bit curious about it?”</p><p>Sansa tilted her head in confusion.  “Curious about having children?  Of course, but I…”  She stopped as she watched Arya’s grin widen.  Sansa glared at her sister.  “You mean the…lying with a man part, don’t you?”</p><p>“I do,” Arya smirked deviously.  “Well, are you?”</p><p>Heat rushed into Sansa’s cheeks and she resisted the urge to fan her face.  She <em> was </em> curious, actually, but the awkwardness of speaking of such things with her younger sister, who had not been married, and who clearly had more experience in the goings-on of the marriage bed than she did, caused Sansa to balk at any mention of all things intimate.  Noticing that Arya was looking at her expectantly, Sansa gave her a quick nod and dropped her eyes to her lap, willing herself not to blush even more.</p><p>“Did you ever even get close to it?” Arya asked, seemingly shameless regarding the topic.</p><p>Sansa shook her head, eyes still on her lap.  “Not truly, I don’t think.  There were some touches, but it was always through clothing and it…the person doing the touching…”  Overcome with shame, Sansa was unable to finish the thought, much less speak it aloud.  When she glanced back up at her sister, Arya was practically vibrating with rage. </p><p>“Someone tried to force you?” She bit out through gritted teeth.  “The touching was unwelcome?”</p><p>Sansa nodded.  “As I said, it wasn’t skin to skin.  I suppose I shouldn’t react the way I do…”</p><p>“Sansa, it’s not your fault,” Arya said, sounding angry, but Sansa got the impression that it wasn’t directed at her.  “Who did it?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter, most of them are dead,” Sansa said.  </p><p>“Did their touching you make you, err, resistant to the idea of…?”</p><p>“No,” Sansa said immediately, meeting Arya’s eyes.  “I know that – or rather I have <em> heard </em> that if done with someone who cares, someone who is gentle, that it can be enjoyable.”</p><p>Arya nodded, “More than enjoyable.  More like something you can’t live without.”</p><p>“Arya!”  Sansa admonished, scandalized.  She couldn’t believe they were having this conversation.</p><p>“Sansa!” Arya mocked her, laughing at her sister’s shocked expression.  “I just want to know why you’re so averse to marriage.  I thought that maybe lying with a man was what worried you…”</p><p>“Why are you so averse to marriage?”</p><p>Arya shrugged.  “I never wanted it.  If I could do it on my own terms, it might not be so terrible.  But I won’t tell Jon that.  Besides, anyone I might want to marry likely won’t be of any benefit to House Stark, so it’s just as well.”</p><p>“How many, erm,” Sansa was certain the question was not appropriate and part of her didn’t want to know just how experienced Arya might be, but…</p><p>“Just the one,” Arya said.  “Admittedly, it has happened <em> very </em> frequently, but he’s the only one.”</p><p>Sansa wanted desperately to ask if Arya loved him, but she didn’t want her sister to close off when she was finally revealing a bit of herself to Sansa.  Arya had returned to Winterfell a few months after the Starks had retaken control as a ghost of her former self.  Where she had once been outgoing and talkative, the new Arya had been closed off and suspicious of everyone.  It had been a gradual thing, watching her slowly crack through the shell of the woman she’d had to become to survive all of the horrors she’d endured.  Yes, Sansa was curious about how her little sister really felt about her blacksmith, but she wouldn’t push her too far only to watch her close off again.</p><p>“Sometimes I think that if I had lost my maidenhead that I might not have to endure all this attention,” Sansa admitted.  “I know that I’d still be a good match, even if I wasn’t a maiden, but maybe they would leave me alone if the goods were damaged.”  It came out sounding bitter, though that had not been Sansa’s intent.</p><p>Arya’s grey eyes were sympathetic, and Sansa knew that she was at least a little bit right in her assessment.  A sudden rush of anger had Sansa standing up as she took up pacing once again, much like she had last night when she’d spoken to Sandor.  <em> Too much pent-up energy </em>, she thought.  Arya only watched her as she marched from one end of the room to the other.  </p><p>“It’s not fair that the only thing of true value about me is the status of my lady bits,” Sansa fumed.  “It doesn’t matter that I don’t <em> want </em> to wed.  It doesn’t matter that I’ve been wed before with terrible results.  I don’t think that Jon would truly force the issue, but he isn’t running them off, is he?  And I won’t run them off either,” she said, disgust evident in her voice.  “I’m too bloody courteous.”</p><p>Arya’s eyes widened at the curse, so rare it was for one to pass from Sansa’s mouth.  She shook it off quickly enough and stood up, stepping in front of Sansa to stop the pacing.  “You’re strong, Sansa.  If you don’t want to be discourteous, why don’t you just tell them your desire is to remain a widow?”</p><p>Sansa shook her head.  “They wouldn’t understand that.  Perhaps if I’d had children with Tyrion or Harry, it would be easier for them to accept.  But it’s as though I’ve never married.  And the worst part is that I <em> do </em>want children, Arya.  Clegane pointed it out to me yesterday when I was trying to hide in the Godswood…”</p><p>One of Arya’s eyebrows quirked up in interest.  “You hid in the Godswood?”</p><p>“Yes, yes, not important,” Sansa said impatiently.  “Clegane seems to be of the same mind as Jon.  He thinks that if I want children that I should just endure whatever husband I choose.”  Sansa deflated slightly.  “Is it wrong of me to <em> not </em> want to settle?”</p><p>“Love matches are for the songs, Sansa,” Arya said quietly.  “Not everyone can have that kind of marriage.”</p><p>“I know,” Sansa whispered back, knowing Arya was speaking of their parents.  “But am I wrong to wonder if I still have a chance at it?”</p><p>Arya frowned as she studied her sister’s face, her grey eyes contemplative.  “No,” she said finally.  “You’re not wrong.  Tell your young lords to bugger off.”  Something sparked behind Arya’s eyes and Sansa recognized it as mischief.  “Or you could get rid of your maidenhead and see if that helps any.”</p><p>Arya snickered at her little joke, surely waiting to see Sansa’s expression transform into horror.  After several seconds, when Arya clearly did not see the indignation she expected on her sister’s face, the laughter died in her throat and her eyes widened.  “Sansa?”</p><p>“You-you may be onto something,” Sansa said, a bit breathlessly.  What if she were to rid herself of her maidenhead?  She had hinted at the same thing last night to Clegane, hadn’t she?  Of course, her suitors wouldn’t necessarily know that she was no longer a maiden unless Sansa completely destroyed her own reputation and made sure everyone knew that she was damaged goods.  But then, if she engaged in behavior that was clearly wanton and unbefitting of a lady, then it was likely that hardly anyone would want to marry her…</p><p>“Arya,” she said, grabbing at her sister’s arm.  “That’s what I need to do.  I need to lose my maidenhead!”</p><p>“Have you taken leave of your senses?!” Arya hissed, jerking her arm back.  “Listen to yourself!”</p><p>“I <em> am </em>, for once.  This may be one of the few things I can control!”</p><p>“You’re mad,” Arya looked at her, incredulous, grey eyes wide.  “Sansa, tell me this is a jape.”</p><p>“Why is it madness?” Sansa snapped.  “You’ve taken control of your destiny, why can I not do the same?”</p><p>Arya rolled her eyes.  “Sansa, you can’t do this –for one, because we <em> are not the same </em> !  Also, it’s not as though I <em> planned </em> to be, err, damaged goods.  Gendry and I have a past.  We’ve known one another for <em> years </em>.  I didn’t just pluck some random man out of a smithy and decide to lay with him to discourage suitors.”</p><p>Sansa considered this for a moment.  True, Arya had not deliberately used her blacksmith as a means to an end.  Sansa suspected she might love the young man as much time as she spent with him.  If Sansa was going to carry out this plan, she had to acknowledge that she was lacking the circumstances that had aided Arya.  Arya’s expression grew more and more alarmed as Sansa’s grew more thoughtful.  </p><p>“Sansa,” Arya said, her voice calm but her eyes showing a spark of dread.  “Tell me you aren’t considering someone to – “</p><p>“Rid me of my problem?” Sansa asked breezily.  “That’s exactly what I’m considering.”</p><p>“Seven hells!”  Arya nearly shouted, but lowered her voice at Sansa’s warning look.  “Sansa, this is not a good idea.  You don’t have someone like Gendry who you can trust to not hurt you!  Are you seriously going to just snatch up some random man?”</p><p>“No, of course not!” Sansa scoffed.  “I know plenty of honorable men.”</p><p>Her sister rolled her eyes again and it made Sansa want to flick her right between those eyes.  “Yes, because an <em> honorable </em> man is going to bed you.  Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?”</p><p>Right, so perhaps her logic wasn’t <em> completely </em> sound.  “Well, I only meant that surely there is someone who will help me with this that will not harm me…”</p><p>Arya’s already wide eyes somehow bulged even more.  It would have been comical if Sansa weren’t so annoyed with her reaction.  “Sansa, you are a <em> lady </em>!”</p><p>Both of them froze at the words, Arya sounding so much like their mother at that moment that they didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  Sansa went to her sister and wrapped her arms around her skinny little form.  Arya squirmed to try to get away.  “Thank you for being worried about me, but you’re just going to have to trust me.”</p><p>Arya wriggled free, pushing at Sansa’s hands.  “Oh, no you don’t.  You aren’t going to give me this load of bollocks about trusting you.  If you’re going to do this, I have to be in on it!  The chances that you will find someone who is both honorable <em> and </em> willing to bed you <em> and </em>willing to step aside without a fuss when you want them to are slim.  If you go through with this mad plan, you’re going to need someone who knows what’s going on to have your back.”</p><p>Sansa sighed heavily and tried not to whine at the unfairness of it all.  She already had an idea forming of who she might enlist to help her, but she hadn’t planned on sharing it with Arya.  She chewed on her lip as she watched her sister’s eyes narrow in suspicion.  The lip biting was Arya’s old habit, but somewhere along the way Sansa had picked it up and now worried her bottom lip between her teeth.</p><p>“Gods, you already have someone in mind, don’t you?” Arya asked.  Sansa didn’t know how she did it, but Arya’s uncanny ability to seemingly read her thoughts irked her.</p><p>“Perhaps,” she said evasively, breaking eye contact.  “After all, there <em> is </em>someone at Winterfell with whom I have a past – he’s someone I trust and someone who does not have any ambitions to be a lord.  He’s someone who would back off when I tell him to.”</p><p>Sansa chanced a glance back up at Arya’s face, <em> hoping </em> to see confusion as she puzzled out who it might be.  But Arya’s mind worked quickly and by the time Sansa met her eyes again, realization had dawned and Arya had pursed her lips.  She already knew who Sansa spoke of.  </p><p>“Please,” she said through clenched teeth, “By the Old Gods and the New, swear to me that you are not talking about the bloody Hound?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arya and Sandor have a chat.</p><p>Sansa comes clean about still being a romantic.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you looking at me like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor narrowed his eyes at the she-wolf sitting across the table from him.  Sansa had made excuses about feeling ill and had weaseled her way out of the evening meal.  Rickon and Jon hosted Lords Tallhart and Hornwood on the dais, but Arya had joined him below the salt.  It was nothing new for her to sit with him as she did so about every other day.  When Winterfell was not hosting guests, Sandor wasn’t expected to stand behind Sansa during the meal and could eat with everyone else.  Since Sansa was hiding away in her chambers, Sandor had sat down to eat in the hall rather than take his meal in his room after the food had gone cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya, predictably, had taken a seat across from him.  But she’d also been acting odd, even for her.  She’d always been talkative, save for those few months that she’d spent readjusting to life at Winterfell, but now she was talking an awful lot about the visiting lords.  She must have seen his irritation in his expression when she demanded why he was looking at her strangely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you care about the little lords?” He sneered at her, helping himself to another cup of watered down ale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t,” Arya snapped, clutching her bread so tightly in her fist that he thought she might throw it at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been talking about them all through supper,” he reminded her.  He hadn’t listened to most of it and certainly couldn’t repeat back to her everything she’d been saying, but he was aggravated and wanted her to shut up about them.  “What is it, she-wolf?  Worried you might have missed your chance to marry?  There are two of them.  I’m sure your lady sister will share.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bread Arya had been holding hit his head with a dull </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk</span>
  </em>
  <span> and splattered into his soup bowl.  He growled at her, but she just scowled back.  “I’d rather die than marry one of those idiots!”  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So dramatic.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Then what’s all this talk about them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya’s eyes slid back up to the dais and narrowed in the general direction of Lords Hornwood and Tallhart.  “They’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span> men, but they’re making Sansa miserable.  If there were anything to be done to make them go away…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seven hells, you sound like her,” Sandor grumbled.  “What do you care if Sansa has suitors?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s my sister, isn’t she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave her a hard look.  “Aye, she’s your sister.  And you’ve done your part to terrorize her.  What’s a couple of suitors compared to the shit you’ve done?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Arya protested.  “Everything I’ve done was all in good fun…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Putting shit in her pillow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya scoffed, “That was just a childish prank…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And ordering your wolf to attack her fiancé?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“FIRST of all, Joffrey deserved that; SECOND, I did not </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nymeria to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Screaming that you hated her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I screamed that I hated you as well,” Arya sniffed indignantly.  “And we’re friends now, so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean to tell me that you’re worried about Sansa because men want to marry her?”  Even he could hear the incredulity in his voice.  He just couldn’t believe that the she-wolf was so torn up about her sister’s problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sansa does not have a pristine history when it comes to betrothals,” Arya said matter-of-factly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Sandor allowed.  “But she’s in her home now with Lord Stark, and Lord Snow, and yourself.  She doesn’t have to entertain these cunts.”  He shot a glare in the general direction of the high table.  “It’s Sansa’s own fault that she doesn’t tell the lads to bugger off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She would never do that,” Arya said.  “You could scare them off for her though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snorted into his cup, narrowly avoiding spatting ale across the table at Arya.  “Aye, Lady Stark would be overjoyed if I threatened a couple of Northern lords.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya propped her elbows on the table and dropped her chin in her hands, somehow looking both sullen and thoughtful.  “Sansa is too nice, too </span>
  <em>
    <span>ladylike</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to tell anyone to bugger off.  You know that.  And I know that she wouldn’t approve of you scaring them off, though it’d be effective.”  Arya sighed, her eyes shifting back to the high table.  “If only there was something to make her less attractive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s not,” Sandor rasped.  Had he not had a similar conversation with his little bird the night prior?  He glared up at Arya.  “What have you two been talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya blinked innocently and sat up straight.  “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sansa wants to repel these cunts, you wonder how to make her less attractive,” he shook his head in disbelief.  “The both of you should know it’s not possible.  I may be a brute, but I’m no fool.  I know you two have spoken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course we have,” Arya admitted easily, sitting back in her chair.  “We talked about what she could do, including telling them to bugger off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the only thing she can do,” Sandor said with finality, ready for this useless conversation to be done with.  “That, or marry one of them.  Or marry someone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya ignored his reasoning.  “If she’d had children with Tyrion, perhaps they would leave her be.  Or if Harrold Hardyng had managed to bed her…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A growl escaped Sandor before he could stop it and Arya stopped talking, looking at him curiously.  He took a quick drink of ale, then said, “They didn’t deserve her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if Larence Hornwood or Beren Tallhart are similarly undeserving?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor shrugged his massive shoulders.  “They aren’t married to her, nor do they have to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, the growl came from Arya.  “Do you not realize that, even if she manages to run off these two, that there will be others?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So eventually she will choose one,” Sandor said, trying to ignore the bitter taste it left in his mouth to say those words.  “She’ll find a pretty little lord she likes and that will be the end of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what if she doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> some pretty little lord?” Sandor met her eyes again at the strange tone of her voice.  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Or</span>
  </em>
  <span> what if she would rather lie with a man because it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>what she wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> rather than what is expected of her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor was confused and </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  For one, it sounded more like Arya was speaking of herself rather than Sansa.  As far as he knew, the little bird was above base desires like lust.  But also, he did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> like thinking about a wanton Sansa lusting after every man she saw.  He wondered if Arya was being truthful, if Sansa </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> desire someone for something other than marriage, and found that whoever the poor fucker might be, Sandor wanted to break his face just for existing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The little bird isn’t lusting after anyone,” Sandor said, hoping he was right in his assessment.  He felt that he would be one of the first to notice if she did indeed want someone.  “All this bollocks about Lady Sansa lying with a man is a waste of breath.  You and I both know she would never stoop so low as to…”  Arya’s eyes narrowed and Sandor had to fight back a smirk.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stoop so low, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled his eyes at her glare, showing her just how concerned he was with her anger.  “You aren’t offended for true, wolf-bitch.  I know you better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya had made no secret of the fact that she had a lover and Sandor doubted very seriously that his words had wounded her in any way.  But there was something in her expression he couldn’t quite interpret.  Finally, she said, “You don’t think less of me for what I have with Gendry.  Why would you think less of Sansa if she entered into a similar arrangement?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the outrage wasn’t for herself, but for her sister.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Arya was a study in contradictions.  When he’d known her as a child, she’d been driven by emotion, mostly anger, but still…her emotions had steered many of her decisions as a child, he knew.  And while Arya had returned to Westeros a different woman, there were still hints of that emotional child.  She may have worn a calm, cool, unfeeling mask for the world, but Sandor understood that deep down, Arya was still emotionally driven.  For one, logic dictated that Sansa should marry, and if Arya had truly been logic-driven, more like her brother Jon, then she would have seen the sense in Sansa marrying one of these lords.  But the little she-wolf was resistant to the idea for several reasons, one being that Sansa was clearly miserable at the prospect of marrying someone she felt nothing for, and another being that Arya had made an emotionally-based decision when she chose to lie with her blacksmith.  She wasn’t so different from the girl he’d known, only now she had more than anger to motivate her; now she had love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor snorted into his cup at his train of thought.  He knew next to nothing about love, especially for one’s sibling, but he could recognize it in other people most of the time.  And Arya loved Sansa, likely more than she loved, excluding Gendry and that bastard brother of hers, so it was clear to Sandor why Arya felt so passionately about Sansa’s situation.  Arya was watching him expectantly, probably waiting for an answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing would make me think less of your sister,” he told her.  “But she isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa, who had always adored stories of love and romance, had learned the hard way that she couldn’t follow her heart.  Out of the two sisters, it was clear to Sandor that Sansa would be the one less likely to get caught up in the excitement of a potential romance.  She certainly wouldn’t hop into bed with the first lad who turned her head, which was what seemed to happen with Arya.  And he told her as much.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know her as well as I do,” he said.  “The little bird isn’t going to lie down with someone just because he has a pretty face, not after Joffrey.  If Sansa ever chooses to lie with someone who isn’t her husband, it will be because…”  He couldn’t finish it.  It was ridiculous.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Hound speaking of love, what a terrible jape, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, but Arya seemed to understand what he was saying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’ll only bed someone who isn’t her husband if she’s in love,” she said quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye,” Sandor grumbled, desperately wanting to be done with this conversation.  “So forget your little plan and tell Lady Sansa to abandon it as well.”  Arya’s eyes widened minutely and Sandor gave her an ugly smirk.  “I’m no fool, she-wolf.  As I said, I know the two of you talk and I know the two of you likely came up with this bloody awful strategy and thought yourselves clever.  Abandon it, she-wolf.  Sansa will never go through with it anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood from the bench and gave a nod to Arya, who was still looking a bit sullen about his chastisement.  He left the Great Hall and stepped out into the bailey, the chill of the night air making him wish he had a heavier cloak.  He made his way across the yard, headed to check on Stranger, when movement at the entrance to the Godswood caught his attention.  He stopped and watched the figure slip by and disappear into the darkness.  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Little bird, you aren’t as sneaky as you wish to be</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  He followed after her, knowing that she likely wanted privacy again, but unwilling to let her wander around alone when there were too many outsiders staying within the walls.  She dropped the hood of her cloak when she reached the Heart Tree, exposing that copper-colored hair he was so fond of, and taking a seat by one of the heated pools.  He was quiet, as always, as he approached her, but she wasn’t startled this time when he came upon her as she had been the previous day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was the evening meal?” She asked quietly without looking at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He crouched down by her side, looking down into the hot spring at their reflections, side by side.  He quickly looked away again, unable to handle looking at the perfection that was Sansa seated next to his monstrous visage.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” he rasped.  “I’m sure you wanted privacy, little bird, but you know I can’t let you wander around on your own when there are so many outsiders staying at Winterfell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded in understanding, but still looked sad.  He didn’t have to ask why, just as he didn’t have to ask if she had really felt unwell enough to skip the evening meal.  Part of him felt bad for her, wanted to take away her suffering, but another part, the old part, grew frustrated with her for stressing about a situation which she had full control over.  It was her own fault that she was so miserable.  Her bloody courtesy was the main thing keeping her from telling her suitors to bugger off and leave her alone.  Her problem was one that only she could solve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spoke with the she-wolf,” he said, sliding his eyes to her face to gauge her reaction.  He watched as a blush crept up her pale cheeks.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>You blush so prettily, little bird</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You speak with her often,” Sansa said, her voice higher than normal, indicating that she must have known that her sister and her sworn shield hadn’t spoken of the normal things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She hinted that the two of you were trying to come up with a plan to get rid of your lordly friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes squeezed shut and, though Sandor wouldn’t have thought it possible, she turned a deeper shade of red, flushing down her neck and lower…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did she tell you?” Sansa squeaked, her eyes still closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This part would need to be handled with delicacy, Sandor knew.  Speaking to a lady of her maidenhead was not strictly appropriate, not that he cared what was appropriate, but he didn’t want to make Sansa uncomfortable.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finding some random lad to rid you of your maidenhead won’t change things the way you hope,” he told her.  “Aye, you’ll no longer be a maiden, but you’ll still have suitors.  Just because you lie with a man doesn’t mean people are going to notice the difference.  You can’t tell whether or not you’re a maiden just by walking around in the light of day knowing you’ve done it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa sighed heavily and shook her head, looking so discouraged.  “I had thought to…damage my reputation a bit as well – to make sure that everyone knew what I had done.”  She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, then quietly added, “And who says it was going to be someone random?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The idea was laughable.  Sandor wasn’t sure what was more amusing:  the thought of Sansa running around acting like a wanton woman or the thought that the two Stark girls had believed that this plan might work.  He supposed it was a testament to how desperate the both of them were that they believed that it would work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you think me foolish,” Sansa said with a hint of petulance detectable in her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did think she was foolish, but he wouldn’t say that to her, not now, after all she’d been through.  He’d have surely told her years ago what an idiotic idea it was, but now he was gentler, if only with her, so he said, “Desperate, little bird.  I think you are desperate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A desperate fool then,” Sansa pouted and he had to bite down a laugh.  She knew him well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, alright, it was desperate </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> foolish.  As I said, it wouldn’t change anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa dragged her fingers through the warm water below her, disrupting her reflection.  “I don’t know what I’m more upset about,” she said, watching her fingers glide through the surface of the pool.  “I’m angry that Jon won’t turn them away.  I’m angrier that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> haven’t turned them away.  I’m angry that I’m only attractive to them because I’m still Ned Stark’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>maiden </span>
  </em>
  <span>daughter…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor cut in, “That’s not the only reason you’re attractive to them, Sansa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She carried on, shooting him a glare as she continued, “I’m angry that a scrap of skin between my legs means more than what I want.  I’m angry that I feel like I have very little control over what I want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what’s that?” Sandor asked her, more to humor her than anything else.  When he looked over at her, he was startled to see tears gathering in her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter, does it?  Not truly.  I want what I’ve always wanted and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> makes me angry too!”  She pulled her hand from the water and covered her face.  Her voice was muffled, but he could still hear her as she told him.  “I want love.  It doesn’t even have to be like the love from a song, just something real.  But I’ll never have it.  Even if I marry Beren Tallhart or Larence Hornwood, there’s no way I’ll ever love them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor scoffed, “You can’t know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And why not?” Sansa snapped, uncovering her face to reveal angry tears.  “Perhaps I am wrong, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> that if I was meant to love one of those men that I would have felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Perhaps I would not have felt love immediately, but surely there would have been some spark, something more than the fear of being trapped again!  Arya has someone to love, why should I not be able to experience it too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to comfort her.  He wished he had pretty words that would make her feel better, but that had never been him.  He gave her truths, hard truths, and that’s what he gave her now.  “Not everyone gets to love, little bird,” he said, feeling strange for even saying the word.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched her face crumple as tears coursed down her cheeks.  Her body shuddered with sobs and he hated himself for hurting her.  There was nothing else he could have told her though.  If anyone deserved a love like the songs, it was Sansa Stark.  He laid a heavy hand on her trembling shoulder awkwardly, though he knew it brought her no comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The world is awful, isn’t that what you told me?” She sniffed, turning red eyes up to look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t have to be awful,” he said gruffly.  “Not now.  You’re home.  You have your brothers and sister.  Aye, it’s not perfect, but there’s been worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded her head and wiped at her eyes.  She began to stand up, so Sandor quickly stood as well so that he could help her.  She dusted the dirt from her skirts and then took a deep breath.  “I suppose you’re escorting me to my chambers now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only if you’re ready,” he said.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave a nod and he held out his arm for her to take it.  There were moments when he wished he was gentler, that he could offer words of comfort even when he knew that they were bollocks.  This was one of those times.  Seeing her distressed caused him physical pain and he knew that he wasn’t likely to get any sleep that night.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arya starts slowly putting some pieces together and an encounter in the Godswood.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Soooo this chapter is longer than the previous chapters in this story and I just couldn't bring myself to split it up.  It's not insanely long, just longer than the usual (coming in at over 5400 word...YIKES!) so hopefully it doesn't get too tedious.</p><p>Updates, like this last one, are going to be slower, so apologies for that!  Like I said in the first chapter, this story has been sitting around for over a year and I just finally wanted to share what I had.  I'm a little involved in another fandom at the moment, so it may take some time for me to churn out the SanSan.</p><p>There's teeny reward in this chapter though, so enjoy!  :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Arya Stark was not stupid. </p><p> </p><p>She had known that she was missing <em> something </em> earlier when she had spoken with her sister about her terrible plan to drive away her suitors.  She didn’t understand what she wasn’t grasping then.  She had been too caught up in the revelation that Sansa was open to committing a scandal just to damage her reputation enough that it would scare away Lords Hornwood and Tallhart.</p><p> </p><p>But after her conversation with the Hound, the fog had lifted and suddenly she was seeing everything clearly.</p><p> </p><p>Sansa loved the Hound.  Or, rather, <em> Sandor </em>, she corrected herself, knowing Sansa wouldn’t appreciate Arya calling him his old moniker.  Because she loved him, obviously.  All the clues had been right in front of her face, and it had taken talking to Sandor for Arya to put the pieces together.</p><p> </p><p>Sansa would never lie with anyone who wasn’t her husband, unless she loved him.  It was so easy.  So obvious.  She felt like she should have realized it before that moment.  It wasn’t as though Sansa was incredibly obvious in her affections - though to be fair, she couldn’t be.  But Arya still should’ve picked up on it.</p><p> </p><p>She’d almost spilled the beans to the Hound at supper time, told him that his lady was <em> in love with him </em>, and that was surely the biggest reason why she didn’t want to marry anyone else.  But she stopped because...well, it wasn’t as though Sandor loved Sansa too.  Not like that.  He loved killing, and drinking, and whoring.  </p><p> </p><p>Although, he hadn’t killed anyone in a while.  He drank, of course, but not to excess.  And come to think of it, Arya wasn’t sure that she’d actually heard of him frequenting the brothel in the winter town.</p><p> </p><p>Fine, so the Hound had changed.  She knew that, of course.  He had taken care of her for a long time, and even before then, he’d watched out for Sansa.  But he wasn’t in love with Sansa.  He simply wanted to protect her because he knew what could happen to an innocent maiden in a dangerous place.  It was the same reason he’d protected her as they’d traveled through the Riverlands and he <em> certainly </em>wasn’t in love with Arya.</p><p> </p><p>She shuddered at the thought.</p><p>“Cold?”  Gendry mumbled into her neck.  His arms wrapped tighter around her waist and he pulled her closer to his chest.</p><p> </p><p>Arya rolled her eyes, though he couldn’t see her.  “I’m not cold.  If anything, I’m keeping you warm.  Just had an unpleasant thought, that’s all.”</p><p> </p><p>He made some sleepy noise against the back of her head.  Then, “Do they ever wonder where you go in the night?”</p><p> </p><p>“My sister knows,” Arya said.  “Jon doesn’t obviously.”</p><p> </p><p>“Figured as much.  No one’s come for my head yet.”</p><p> </p><p>Arya smirked to herself, then wiggled until she could turn around in his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin.  “Jon wouldn’t cut off your stupid head.”</p><p> </p><p>“No?”  She could see his brows furrowing.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” she told him confidently.  “He would cut off your cock and bollocks.”</p><p> </p><p>Gendry groaned and Arya hid her smile against his chest.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The rising sun woke Sansa from a fitful sleep.  Her head was pounding and she knew it was a result from all the crying she’d done the night before.  She was embarrassed by her behavior too.  She’d poured her heart out to her sworn shield, crying about how unfair her life was.  He probably thought she was ridiculous.  After everything she had gone through, after the hell that had been her life until she was reunited with her siblings and back in Winterfell, <em> this </em>was what she cried over.  Part of her wanted to accept defeat and just randomly choose one of the two lords who was sure to ask for her hand.  Another part of her wanted to dig in her heels and insist she wait for someone that she had a better connection with.</p><p><em> It’s never going to happen </em>, a voice in her head whispered.  She stuffed her head beneath a pillow and groaned.  Through her clouded emotions, she tried to piece together the conversation she’d had with Sandor last night.  He’d told her that not everyone was meant for love and it had been that statement that had broken her.  She had held onto a small hope that perhaps he felt something for her other than duty and obligation and occasional lust.</p><p>But then, she wasn’t even sure he felt lust anymore.  He had kissed her, she remembered that much.  He had hovered over her that night as though he wanted to do <em> more </em> than kiss her.  But he’d left in the end and she would never know.  When he had found her again only days before her wedding to Harry, she hadn’t thought to question him about it.  She’d been too heartsick over the fact that she was marrying Harry while Sandor was alive.  </p><p>Afterward, when Sandor had pledged his sword and helped her retake Winterfell, it had seemed improper to bring up considering their professional relationship.  It hadn’t occurred to her until much later, after he’d sworn his sword to her, that by allowing him to do so ensured that they could not have any kind of romantic relationship.  But she’d been desperate at the time – desperate to keep him with her, worried that he might disappear again.</p><p>Sansa discovered the depth of her own feelings too late.  The truth had been staring her in the face for years, but she had failed to look back.  Now, when she thought of every interaction she had, she remembered the tension, the emotion, and the undeniable bond.  Even before there was attraction, there had been inexplicable chemistry.  She knew that Sandor hadn’t initially seen her as an object of desire, not in the carnal sense at least.  That was another mystery that had taken her years to piece together.</p><p><em> He protected me all those years ago because I was like </em> him.  <em> I reminded him of himself when he was a child.  He hated me, but still felt the need to protect me too. </em></p><p>A chance meeting on the serpentine was what alerted Sansa to the fact that Sandor may be attracted to her.  In truth, he had unlikely ever been attracted to her until <em> that night </em>.  He had drunkenly accosted her and teased her about her love of songs, but he had also made mention of her teets, among other things.  Sansa had been so shaken up at being caught and then so relieved later on that Sandor hadn’t told Joffrey where she’d been, that she hadn’t analyzed their interaction until much later.</p><p>Similarly, the night the Blackwater burned, Sansa had been terrified by the battle, by the fire, by Sandor’s presence in her chamber.  She had been too frightened to leave with him, thinking that they would surely be caught and killed on the spot.  Sandor had been out of his mind with drink and fear and had not acted in such a way that left Sansa feeling any safer.  Again, it was only much later that she realized how true her own words to him were.  <em> You won’t hurt me </em> .  He wouldn’t have.  Even if Sansa’s fear had won out that night and she had been unable to sing, she knew now without a doubt that the blade pressed against her throat was no danger to her.  He was terrified of the fire, terrified of the consequences of his desertion, terrified at the thought that the one person he thought could see him as something other than a monster <em> didn’t </em>, and he had wanted to scare her.  Sansa understood it perhaps better than Sandor did.  They had never discussed it.  Sansa had never waited around for an apology because she had forgiven him almost immediately.  </p><p>After he left, she found her thoughts turning to him at odd times, or at least, at times that seemed strange to her back then.  She thought of him when Margaery and her cousins were giggling about stealing kisses, thinking herself superior because she had been kissed by a fierce warrior rather than a pretty little boy.  She had thought about him during her wedding to Tyrion.  It seemed the more time passed, the more she thought of him.</p><p>On two different occasions while hiding in the Vale as Alayne Stone, Sansa had heard bits of news that had startled her.  First, Petyr had mentioned that there had been reports from Saltpans that the Hound was terrorizing its people, razing businesses and raping maids.  Sansa had fought to keep the shock from her face.</p><p><em> It can’t be.  He wouldn’t do that.  He’s not a monster </em>.  And since Alayne was much worldlier than Sansa, it occurred to her that it was likely a rumor.  She had become quite familiar with how a tale could be twisted.  She ignored it, putting it to the back of her mind.  </p><p>Later, another piece of news had rattled her even more.  A man called the Elder Brother, who lived on an island near Saltpans, had written letters to numerous lords and the high septon explaining that the attack on Saltpans had not been Sandor Clegane.  This Elder Brother, who Sansa had never heard of, explained that the rapist of Saltpans had indeed worn a hound’s helm, but that it was the stolen helmet of the true Hound.  He explained that he knew this to be true because the real Hound had died in his presence near the Trident.</p><p>Sansa had barely kept it together.  Petyr had been reading the missive with interest, clearly intrigued with such a tale.  Clever as he was, Petyr had never known that Sansa and Sandor had a relationship outside what was necessary as Joffrey’s betrothed and Joffrey’s sword shield.  She had left Petyr with his missive and disappeared to her room.  She had soaked her pillow with tears, though she couldn’t say why.</p><p><em> He was cruel.  He was a killer.  He was no knight. </em>   She told herself those things over and over again.  She told herself all the things that had allowed her to keep a distance from him.  <em> He was cruel.  He was a killer.  He was no knight </em>.</p><p>But the only thing truly cruel about him had been his words.  And though he was a killer, he often did it at someone else’s bidding.  He was no knight, but Sansa was beginning to hate knights anyway.</p><p>Sandor had been her one true friend in King’s Landing.  Everyone else - Tyrion, Margaery, Shae - they were only decent to her when it benefited themselves.  But Sandor had no reason to be on her side, but <em> he was </em>.  After she’d learned of his death, Sansa spent a lot of time thinking about every little interaction they’d ever had.  He may not have been capable of being kind, exactly, but he was protective of her.</p><p>And she’d realized it too late.</p><p>When Sandor showed up in the Vale - alive and dressed as a monk of all things - Sansa had seen it as a second chance to gain his friendship.  He spoke roughly to her, but she took it in stride, hardly blinking when he growled at her.  He tried to tell her that he was a changed man and that he had no business interfering with her affairs, but Sansa was persistent.</p><p>At some point, Sansa was startled to learn that she was attracted to him.</p><p>It had been at her wedding feast - Sandor was willing to help her get home, but had no idea how to stop the wedding, so Sansa had married Harry and had every intention of convincing her husband to take his forces North to help her win back Winterfell.  Her husband had been dancing with one pretty girl after another and Sansa had let him, unable to muster any jealousy.</p><p>She had been scanning the room, taking note of their guests when her eyes landed on Sandor.  He had lost his rough-spun robe and cowl and replaced it with light, leather armor over a dark grey tunic.  His attire looked decent enough for someone who probably had to scavenge his clothing.  But Sansa couldn’t take her eyes off him.</p><p>It was confusing because, while by that time, she had acknowledged she had some confusing feelings for him, she hadn’t yet unraveled whether or not they were tied up in gratitude, friendship, or having survived King’s Landing together.  But at that moment she found herself admiring how very large he was - how the definition of his muscular arms could be seen through his tunic.  His hair was long, and dark, and shining from a recent bath, and she wondered how soft it might be to the touch.  And his eyes were clear and focused, absent of rage, and she found she quite liked the calm color of them.</p><p>And that’s when she realized that whatever she’d been feeling for him was <em> not </em> strictly innocent.</p><p>Sansa fared no better in the few years since that realization.  What she thought might be an infatuation carried over from her childhood had proven to be something else entirely.  She had hoped, for a while, that maybe the physical attraction to him was a passing whim that she would get over eventually.  </p><p>She hadn’t.</p><p>She became more consumed with thoughts of him as time went on.  And <em> he </em> wasn’t helping the situation.</p><p>Sandor was still gruff, still brutally honest, still a bit crude, but he was also gentler with her, respectful of her, and very protective.  It only made Sansa want him more, but the longer she carried feelings for him, the more sure she became that Sandor saw her as a duty to fulfill.</p><p>She was in love with him.  She’d admitted that to herself some time ago.  Who knew how long she’d <em> actually </em> been in love with him.  She was quite efficient at lying to herself, so the fact was that she may have been in love with him since before he showed up in the Vale.  </p><p>Part of her hoped that one day he might fall in love with her too - he had kissed her after all - but so far, Sandor hadn’t shown any interest in her.</p><p>Sansa pulled herself out of bed and called to her maids to help her dress.  She cleaned her teeth and washed her face and waited on Sandor to escort her to breakfast.  He watched her warily, probably worried that she’d start crying in front of him again.  Sandor hated crying women and she was sorry she’d exposed him to that.</p><p>“Feel better, my lady?”  He asked as he pulled her chair out from the table on the dais.</p><p>Sansa winced at the formality.  He didn’t often address her as such except when in the presence of guests, but Sansa didn’t care for it at all.</p><p>Lord Hornwood looked up from his plate.  “Oh, of course, you missed dinner,” he said, remembering that Sansa had been absent from the evening meal.  “Are you well now, my lady?”</p><p>She hadn’t answered Sandor because surely he knew that she felt no better about her situation, but to ignore Lord Hornwood would be rude.  “Better today than yesterday,” she lied, pulling a smile that wasn’t genuine.  </p><p>It was a lie.  She felt worse today than she did yesterday, and she was starting to realize that it wasn’t marriage in particular that had her in such a terrible mood.  She turned slightly and cut her eyes so that she could see him.  He was standing against the wall, his gaze settled on her because that was his job.  When he found her looking back, he tilted his head in a silent query, as though to make sure she was alright.</p><p>Beren Tallhart decided that since his cousin had been offered a walk in the godswood that he wanted one as well, so Sansa agreed to walk with him.  After breakfast, as they made their way through the bailey towards the Godswood entrance, Lord Tallhart seemed to realize they were being followed.</p><p>“Clegane,” he said, spinning around with surprise as though he’d just noticed him.  “I know you’re only trying to perform your duties, but I doubt Lady Sansa needs a guard in her own godswood.”</p><p><em> Wrong thing to say </em>, Sansa thought, shooting worried glance at Beren before looking back to Sandor, who was no glowering at the young lord.</p><p>“Aye, I’m performing my duties, and it’s my call whether or not Lady Sansa needs a guard in her Godswood.  Lady Sansa doesn’t wander around alone when Winterfell has guests.  If you take issue with it, speak with Lord Snow.”</p><p>“And Sandor isn’t just a guard,” Sansa threw in, a bit haughtily.  “Sandor is my sworn shield.”</p><p>Beren looked between the two of them, clearly at a loss for words, then nodded and swept an arm towards the Godswood.  “Lead the way, my lady.”</p><p>As much as Sansa loved the godswood, she quickly became bored in Beren’s company.  He spoke of hunting and asked if she’d ever been, to which his answer came with a look of disgust.  </p><p>“Pardon, my lady...I just thought...I know that Lady Arya…”</p><p>Sansa suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.  This poor fool was clearly enamored of Arya and had no chance with her.  She peeked over her shoulder and was a little distressed to find Sandor so far behind them.  He was visible and could clearly get to her if she needed him, but he was keeping far enough away that he couldn’t hear their quiet conversation.</p><p>He was likely trying to be respectful, but Sansa didn’t like the distance between them, as silly as it was.  </p><p>She managed to convince Lord Tallhart that she was tired and that he should take a ride outside the gates.  She declined when he asked her to accompany him, falling back on her weak riding skills.  As they stood at the edge of the Godswood, Sansa waiting for him to leave so she could complain to her sworn shield some more, Lord Tallhart leaned down and brushed an innocent kiss against her mouth, and then quickly spun around, walking briskly to the stables.</p><p><em> Don’t kill him, don’t kill him </em>, Sansa thought as Sandor approached.  It wasn’t so much that she could hear him coming - because of the disturbingly quiet way he moved around - but she could almost feel him approaching somehow.  When he stopped at her side, she looked at him from the corner of her eye.</p><p>He was scowling - likely because he’d just seen Beren Tallhart kiss her.</p><p>Sansa’s heart rate picked up and she wondered - was he jealous?  Kissing wasn’t strictly forbidden among possible suitors, and Lord Tallhart clearly had no impure intentions since he performed the act with Sandor mere feet away, but Sandor looked <em> very </em> agitated.</p><p>She peered up at him.  “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing,” he growled, staring off after Beren Tallhart.</p><p>“Did Lord Tallhart offend you?”</p><p>A muscle ticked in Sandor’s jaw.  “No.  Did he offend you?”</p><p>“Not at all.”  The kiss was nothing to get excited over.  It had been as passionless as it was innocent.</p><p>“He shouldn’t have done that.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>Grey eyes snapped to hers and for just a moment, the anger was taken over by confusion.  He hid it very quickly and said, “Lord Snow wouldn’t appreciate it.”</p><p>“On the contrary, I believe Jon would consider it progress.  He does want me to get married and you were urging me to be more open-minded about my prospects…”</p><p>“Beginning to warm up to him then?”  Sandor practically growled.</p><p>“Not at all.  It’s just that you seem to be more upset about that kiss than I am.”</p><p>His jaw was working as he ground his teeth.  “Sansa, I don’t care who you kiss.”</p><p>“Why did you kiss me then?”  Her words seemed to echo through the empty Godswood and she instantly regretted giving voice to them.  She had the urge to slap a hand over her mouth, but she refrained; instead, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin and forced herself to look in his eyes.</p><p>He was startled, she could tell that much.  His normally stoic demeanor had been rattled by her loud demand and now his grey eyes stared back at her, wide and disbelieving, as though he could hardly believe she could bring it up.</p><p>Sansa took a calming breath and tried to adopt a composed, reasonable countenance.  “Perhaps it isn’t something that means anything to you now and that’s understandable, but clearly you cared about me at some point…”</p><p>He was distracting her, his stunned expression fading into one of irritation for every word she said.  His brows creased and the corners of his mouth had turned down and he looked…well, kind of mad.</p><p>He held up a hand to stop her talking, though she had already faded off, bemused by his expression. </p><p> “First,” he growled at her, “Caring about you and caring about who you kiss are two different things.”  </p><p>She opened her mouth to argue, then realized he was right and snapped her mouth closed again.  Heat rushed to her cheeks and she could no longer look at him, her eyes falling on the black pool behind him just to have something else to look at.</p><p>“Second,” he continued, stepping a bit closer to her and taking her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look back up at him.  “I never kissed you, so what in the buggering hells are you talking about?”</p><p>Sansa’s embarrassment was quickly replaced by <em> rage </em>, which was a relatively foreign emotion for her.  Her hand encircled his wrist and tugged it away from her face and she snarled at him, “Yes, you did!  How dare you act like it didn’t happen!”</p><p>The next thing he did only stoked the fire of her anger.  He barked a laugh and shook his head as though he couldn’t believe the words coming from her mouth.  “And when did I kiss you, hmm?”</p><p>Sansa stared at him in open shock, feeling too many emotions at once to get a handle on any of them.  Anger, yes, that was the prominent one; but also shock, and hurt, and disbelief at his behavior.</p><p>“You don’t remember,” she accused him, albeit in a soft voice.</p><p>He nodded in agreement and sneered down at her, “Aye, it must have slipped my mind.”</p><p>With a shriek of frustration, Sansa stepped forward and shoved at his chest.  Disappointingly, he did not so much as sway under the force of her weight. </p><p> “Slipped your mind?” She hissed through gritted teeth.  She lifted her hands, intent on thumping her fists against his massive chest, but he caught her wrists in his hands and leaned down.</p><p>“That’s what I said,” he growled, glaring at her.  “Or mayhaps you misremembered who it was you kissed.”</p><p>“<em> I </em> didn’t kiss anyone,” she hollered at him.  “ <em> You </em> kissed <em> me </em>, you great brute!”</p><p>He only rolled his eyes at that, still holding her wrists.  “I didn’t kiss you,” he said again.</p><p>Sansa jerked at her wrists, no longer wanting to be near him.  “I suppose you were just too drunk,” she huffed, still twisting at her wrists in a bid to get away from him.  “I suppose you remember <em> nothing </em> of the night the Blackwater burned!”</p><p>His hands tightened on her wrists and he jerked her closer to him.  His glare was menacing and he bared his teeth as he leaned down into her space.  “Wrong, little bird.  I remember <em> everything </em>.”</p><p>“Clearly not!” She snapped back.</p><p>“Oh, I do,” he rumbled, his voice low and dangerous sounding.  “I remember everything – my men burning around me, the buggering Imp demanding I run back into the fire over and over again, the blood…I remember stumbling to your room,” his voice was shaking now, but Sansa didn’t know if it was anger or the trauma of reliving the horror of that night.  “I wanted comfort, to be around the one person who made <em> me </em> feel like a person instead of a dog to be kicked.”  He released her wrists and stepped back from her, his fierce gaze dropping to the leaf-covered floor of the Godswood.  “I remember fucking that up too, scaring you out of your wits, threatening you with a blade…”</p><p>Something in his tone made Sansa want to comfort him, just as she had that night, but her anger was still too fresh, so she just stood staring at him quietly, waiting for him to continue.</p><p>He lifted his eyes back to hers, some of the anger drained out.  “But I didn’t kiss you.  I would remember.”</p><p>“You were drunk,” she said flatly.  “Who do you think has the more reliable memory?”</p><p>He blew out an exasperated breath, frustrated, and closed his eyes as though to keep from losing his temper.  “Sansa, I swear, if I had kissed you, I would know.”</p><p>She didn’t believe him and was angry that he would even argue with her about this considering how intoxicated he’d been.  But it was clear that he was just as firm in his assertions as she was in hers.  Her argument fell flat in the face of his denial though, so Sansa was left speechless.  </p><p>His mouth twitched a little and he said, “If I had so much as tried to kiss you, you would’ve screamed in terror.  We both know it’s true.”</p><p>She shook her head.  “But I didn’t.  I just…I closed my eyes and let you…”</p><p>His stare was curious and calculating.  “You closed your eyes and let me kiss you?”  His voice was incredulous.</p><p>“Well, yes…”</p><p>“Why would you <em> let </em> me kiss you?”</p><p>“It’s not as though I could stop you!” She said exasperatedly.  “You’re quite a bit larger than I am and I was pinned to the bed…”</p><p>“You closed your eyes,” he rumbled, his eyes seeming distant now, as though he was remembering, and Sansa almost sighed in relief, sure that he was finally remembering his actions.  But then he shook his head and repeated, “You closed your eyes and I told you to look at me…and I told you to sing.  You sang the Mother’s Hymn and I…” He sighed heavily, scratching at his cheek thoughtfully.  “I tore off my cloak.”</p><p>“Yes,” Sansa said.  “All that happened, but…”  <em> How strange </em>, she thought suddenly.  He remembered everything that she did – everything except the kiss.  “You kissed me…”</p><p>“When?” He asked, his one good brow shooting up as he questioned her.  "Walk me through it, my lady.  Tell me when it happened."</p><p>She frowned at him, his tone doing nothing to improve her mood.  "You leaned over me, held the dagger to my throat-"  she said calmly, simply recounting the events, but he <em> almost </em> flinched.  She would address that particular reaction later.  "You asked me to sing and then you…"</p><p>"Then I listened to you sing," he cut in.</p><p>Sansa opened her mouth to argue, but came up short.  She <em> had </em> sung to him.  She remembered that well enough and always had.   </p><p>"And then I left you," he said softly.</p><p>Sansa shook her head, trying to hold onto her memory of that night as she'd remembered it for years.  He had leaned over her, she had closed her eyes, and he had…</p><p>
  <em> "Still can't bear to look, can you?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "I'll have that song.  Florian and Jonquil, you said.  Sing, little bird.  Sing for your little life." </em>
</p><p>And Sansa had sung for him, but not about the fool and his cunt, as Sandor had called them.  She sang him the Mother's Hymn.</p><p>And yes, then he left.</p><p>"You- you didn't…?"  She felt almost dizzy, thrown by her realization.  It shifted her reality, made her question everything that had ever happened.  "Oh, gods."</p><p>She covered her gaping mouth as she looked at him.  Thankfully, he didn't look smug or justified that his own memory had been the correct one, mostly he just looked...confused.</p><p>"You imagined I kissed you."  His voice was a quiet rumble.  </p><p>Sansa swallowed against the lump in her throat.  "I did."</p><p>There was something in those silver grey eyes of his, a question maybe, but Sansa was still too shaken to properly examine it.  She was inclined to apologize, but that seemed silly.  She hadn't done anything.  Well, except accuse him of impropriety, but that hardly seemed like something Sandor would care about.  After all, he wasn't her sworn shield at the time, just a broken warrior seeking comfort on the worst night of his life.</p><p>"I should have apologized," Sandor rasped, looking away from her.  </p><p>Sansa's brow furrowed and she lowered the hand from her mouth.  "For what?"  <em> We've established you didn't kiss me, and I'd be offended if you even tried to apologize for that </em>.</p><p>His eyes snapped back to her and he looked at her like she was insane.  "For holding a dagger to your pretty little neck.  For scaring you out of your mind,"  his eyes fell to the ground, and to the melting snow, he said, "For showing up to your room in the first place."</p><p>“I covered myself in your cloak,” Sansa blurted, and she felt herself flush when his eyes snapped back to her face.  But she pressed onward.  “When you left, you tore off your cloak and I-”  She swallowed against a lump in her throat as she remembered how she felt that night.  “I crawled beneath the cloak and slept.  It made me feel safe.”</p><p>His grey eyes bore into her and he muttered, “You are one crazy little bird.”</p><p>“I must be,” she conceded.  “To believe in something that never happened, to remember it over and over again in such vivid detail that I…”  </p><p><em> That I compared everyone else I’ve kissed since to </em> <b> <em>you</em> </b>.</p><p>“You imagined I kissed you,” he said again, still sounding so confused.  “Yet you let me into your service.”</p><p>“Well, it was just a kiss,” Sansa sniffed.  “Nothing too terribly inappropriate.”</p><p>Sandor snorted.  “A sweet, chaste kiss like the songs then?”</p><p>Sansa shot him a glare.  “Yes.  I suppose if it’s coming from <em> my </em> imagination it would only make sense that it would be like the songs.”</p><p>Sandor was quiet for several long moments, and Sansa’s glare turned into a worried frown.  She couldn’t place the look in his eyes as he stepped into her space.</p><p>“Sansa,” he rasped, and there was a touch of affection in his voice.</p><p>“Hmm?”  His proximity was messing with her head, but she couldn’t bring herself to back away.</p><p>“I wouldn’t have given you a courtly kiss like your precious knights.”</p><p>“Oh,” she murmured.  That made sense.  Perhaps if she’d examined <em> that </em>aspect more she would have discovered the truth sooner.  She lifted her chin to look at him, then tilted her head, curiosity getting the better of her.  “Then how would you have kissed me?”</p><p>She was worried he would back away, that he would get mad at her, scold her for impropriety.  But she desperately wanted him to answer her, wanted him to tell her how he would have kissed her had he been so inclined.</p><p>He said nothing.  </p><p>But his arms came around her waist and he hauled her against him, dipped his head, his lips barely brushing against her.  “Like this,” he whispered against her mouth.  </p><p>And then he kissed her.</p><p>His mouth wasn't cruel, as she'd remembered once, but <em> hungry </em>.  He kissed her like he wanted to devour her.  His hands squeezed at her as he bent to change the angle, nipping at her mouth.  </p><p>Sansa's body finally caught up to what was going on.  Her hands crept to his shoulders, and she parted her lips for him, swallowing the groan she elicited.  She touched her tongue to his and his hands moved from her waist, sliding up her back and over her shoulders before settling near her neck, his fingers a little cold against her heated skin.  His thumbs brushed tenderly along either side of her jaw.  </p><p>Too soon, far too soon, he moved his face away.  Sansa’s eyes remained closed for a moment, trying to hold onto those precious moments.  But then his hands fell away from her face and the warmth of his body retreated and she knew he’d stepped away.  She slowly opened her eyes.  </p><p>His face was inscrutable, even as his chest heaved a little.  </p><p>She reached up with her fingers and touched her kiss-swollen lips.  She wanted to tell him to come back and do it again.  She wanted to ask him to never stop. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Thoughts on the smooch from our darlings.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the delay.  I'm hoping I won't take that long with an update again.  I was in the Mountains.  I sat in front of a fire in a cabin and played board games for several days and didn't even open my laptop.  </p><p>This chapter is shorter than the last one.  More like my normal chapter length.  Also, I've abandoned the whole alternating POV every chapter thing so here you get - Sandor, Sansa, and then Sandor again.  Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor wondered, as he walked Sansa back to the castle, if he could lose his head for what he’d just done.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Worth it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he decided, staring at the back of Sansa’s bent head as she slipped through the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kissing her had been different from the many fantasies he’d had.  For one thing, it was infinitely better.  Sansa hadn’t acted scandalized or bashful about any of it.  In truth, the way she’d touched her lips had been almost reverent.  She had stared at him for several long seconds before Sandor broke their silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The mid-day meal will be served soon,” Sandor told her.  “Now that I’ve made my point, we should go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa hadn’t said anything all the way back to the keep, but she kept peering over her shoulder at him, as though she expected him to say something.  He didn’t have anything else to say though.  He’d made his point and that was that.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa had imagined kissing him.  Multiple times, to hear her tell it.  And she had gotten under his skin, claiming that he’d kissed her when he hadn’t - had no intention of it at all.  His intentions varied from wanting to be in the company of someone gentle and wanting to scare her into thinking he was the monster she saw him as at the time.  There had never been even a suggestion of a thought about kissing her.  He hadn’t kissed too terribly many women in his life - he never kissed the whores he lay with because he couldn’t trust where their mouths had been.  No, the only times he had kissed women were when he tumbled the occasional serving woman or the rare noble lady who was bored with her lord husband.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And even then, some of the women clearly didn’t want to kiss him because of his terrible face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Sansa - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had imagined kissing Sansa, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> the night the Blackwater burned.  Sandor had always seen Sansa as untouchable, and once he realized that he cared for her, he was more than content to show that he cared by merely protecting her.  The fantasy of kissing Sansa hadn’t formed in Sandor’s mind until after he’d met her again in the Vale.  He didn’t even know why the thought had crept into his head.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His best guess was that it had to do with her newfound bravery in the face of...well, his face.  She simply hadn’t cared about his scars anymore and for Sandor, who had grown quite accustomed to people flinching away from his face, the whole situation almost left him unsettled.  At one point, he had begrudgingly peered into a looking glass just to make sure that his scars hadn’t lessened somehow, and then immediately regretted it when his face was just as ugly as it had been the last time he’d ventured a look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa had kept up a steady stream of pleas for Sandor to help her get back to Winterfell, which he had begrudgingly agreed to do if she could get her lordly husband to assist.  He’d watched her face fall when he’d told her that and for the first time, it occurred to him that Sansa didn’t want to marry the Hardyng cunt.  He realized he loathed seeing her pretty blue eyes turn sad, hated seeing those pretty lips turn downward into a frown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had been the first time he’d wanted to kiss her.  He’d wanted to kiss the pout away and tell her that she didn’t have to marry that puffed-up lordling.  He didn’t do or say any of that.  He’d been powerless to stop her wedding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost as powerless as he was to stop these suitors from seeking her hand now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the mid-day meal, Sandor stood behind Sansa dutifully.  There wasn’t any awkwardness between Sansa and the Tallhart lad, but Sandor couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.  Sansa was a little more engaged than she had been previously, approaching something closer to her usual charm.  Arya was nowhere in sight, which wasn’t terribly unusual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lord Stark looked bored as usual, his chin dropping into his hand as he snuck scraps beneath the table to his wolf.  Lord Snow seemed to be watching Sansa.  Perhaps he had noticed that she was in a slightly better mood too.  His long face didn’t reveal much else though.  Sandor wondered if Lord Snow had actually put Lord Tallhart up to kissing Sansa.  The thought made him angry, but it occurred to Sandor now that </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> may be the reason he was watching her so closely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seven hells, the little bird had been kissed twice in one day now and Sandor couldn’t stop the regret that flooded him as he thought back on his actions.  And regret was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> something he typically dwelt on.  And it wasn’t that he regretted kissing her exactly, but it was so soon after she’d been kissed by someone else.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shouldn’t have done it.  He knew that, of course, but she had been so infuriating.  Those blue eyes had blazed with conviction and her cheeks had turned the loveliest shade of pink as her temper had gotten the best of her.  Gods, she’d looked beautiful, all angry and indignant that he’d forgotten something that never happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if he could ever forget kissing her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was certain now that the memory of how her mouth had felt beneath his would haunt him every second of the day now.  His hands balled into fists at his side as a wave of anger washed over him.  Why had he done it?  Why had he put himself in this situation?  He knew, without a doubt, that he had only opened himself up to a new kind of torture.  He didn’t even bother to tell himself that his curiosity should be satisfied now that he’d done one of the things he’d imagined over and over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, it only made him imagine doing it again, among other things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya showed up in her sister’s room later that afternoon, relatively clean considering she’d been gone for most of the day.  Sansa was sitting in front of the fire.  Now that the days were getting warmer, she needed dresses made of lighter material, so she was working on the first of several.  Arya plopped into the chair across from her, slouching in her seat with her knees spread, looking </span>
  <em>
    <span>most </span>
  </em>
  <span>unladylike.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa opened her mouth to ask where Arya had been all day, but her sister’s statement froze the words in her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re in love with the Hound.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa made a gasping noise, and then promptly stabbed her finger with the sewing needle.  She swore, putting the finger to her mouth as a bubble of red bloomed at the tip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Language, Lady Stark,” Arya said, lifting a dark brow as she watched her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arya!  What - </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> -” Sansa stumbled over her words, beyond distracted at the pain in her finger and the words that had spilled from her sister’s mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya sat up straighter in her chair and leaned forward, her elbows propped on her knees.  “You know, Clegane is smarter than I give him credit for.  He put things together that I hadn’t quite worked out…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa's spirit left her body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He- he what? He...worked...what?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya frowned, clearly bewildered by Sansa's complete inability to speak.  She tilted her head and waited for Sansa to calm down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa drew in as deep a breath as she could manage and let it out shakily.  "He worked out that I…he knows that I..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, no, he doesn't know that you…"  Arya stopped, narrowing her eyes.  A smile curled her lips.  "Did you just admit to it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa's eyes widened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was going to say he worked out that you wouldn't lay with a man unless you were in love with him because when I talked to him, I didn't tell him that you specifically wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  I'm ashamed really," Arya sniffed.  "He put it together before I did.  But he's right.  You wouldn't lay with someone outside of marriage unless you were in love.  Perhaps he knows you better than I do."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He likely does," Sansa admitted quietly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And you love him," Arya said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa met her sister's eyes.  She could deny it.  She could insist that Arya was being dramatic and trying to stir up her own entertainment with such a bold statement.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya’s features softened.  "That's the real reason you're so against marrying one of those lords, isn't it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Sansa insisted.  "What I told you before is true.  I don't want to marry to make someone else happy.  I had to marry a man whose family murdered our family.  Then I had to marry a man who was more interested in tumbling the serving women than being an honorable husband.  Sandor hardly factors into this.  It just...makes it worse that I feel…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When did this happen?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know.   It snuck up on me.  And Arya, today in the Godswood, he...kissed me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"  Arya, usually coolly composed, stared at her in open shock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I may have goaded him into it," Sansa said, frowning as she recalled the events that had transpired in the kiss.  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then how would you have kissed me?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  She didn't know how she expected him to respond, but perhaps she should've guessed that he would give his explanation in the most practical way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya’s face was twisted in confusion, as though she couldn't fathom why her sister and the man she'd known as the Hound would share a kiss.  Sansa was thankful that she'd managed to hide her feelings so well for so long that the whole situation struck Arya as preposterous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How-" Arya stopped and shook her head, chewing at her bottom lip.  She took what appeared to be a fortifying breath, then asked, "How was it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Singular.  Breathtaking.  Delicious. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"It wasn't what I'd imagined," Sansa admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya scrunched her nose.  "That bad?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What- no!  The opposite, actually.  It’s just-"  Sansa thought that she might as well come clean.  So she told her everything.   She told her what happened the night Sandor left King's Landing - the true version.  And then she told her that at some point, her mind, heart, </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> had inserted the memory of a kiss where they hadn't been one.  She told her how for so long, for </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she believed Sandor had kissed her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sansa," Arya said, almost in disbelief with a shake of her head.  "This is- you have to tell him.  And tell Jon.  And- wait, </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> you tell him earlier when he…?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No!  Of course not."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But he kissed you.   For true this time.  That means something."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa shook her head.  "It doesn't.   You know him, Arya.  You know how stubborn he is.  He was trying to make a point.  He even said as much."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He was trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>prove a point</span>
  </em>
  <span> by kissing the lady he serves?"  Disbelief colored Arya’s voice.  "Sansa, he's not that stupid."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He knows I wouldn't take offense to his crass lessons," Sansa insisted.  "He knows he has nothing to fear from using those methods with me.  The way we've interacted for years has been defined by his insensitivity."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Crass lessons?"  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Arya scoffed.  "I doubt that Clegane would do something that will get him removed from your service over a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lesson</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Listen to yourself!  You are deep in denial.  For just a moment, put aside the idea that he was trying to make a point.  Why else would he kiss you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa thought about it, she truly did.  Could he have kissed her because he actually wanted to?  She didn’t know, and since the memory of their first kiss had been proven to be her imagination, she was now questioning everything.  Was the kiss as passionate as she recalled?  Had it truly been as enjoyable for him as it had been for her?  She was so uncertain.  Everything felt like a trick now that she’d realized how faulty her own memory could be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, she sighed and said, “Perhaps he was trying to annoy me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya gave her a rather peeved-looking glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please,” Sansa sniffed.  “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> he likes to annoy me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya rolled her eyes and stood up.  “Fine.  Carry on with your stubborn disbelief if you want, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> think you should at least talk to him.  What if he feels the same?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa grew quiet as she considered it.  Could he care for her too?  Of course, she knew he cared for her, the way any sworn shield would care for this lord or lady, but what if his feelings matched hers?  She had not considered the possibility that Sandor could be secretly pining for her too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And at that thought, a bubble of laughter rose up in her throat and she covered her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya watched her with suspicion.  “What now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa shook her head, still grinning, though her mirth was shadowed in a hint of sadness.  “Arya, think about what you’ve just proposed - do you really think Sandor has a soft spot?  For anyone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya’s brows drew together.  “Of course he does, Sansa.  He kept me alive.  He kept </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> alive…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, but- I don’t mean like that.  Do you truly think that he cares about -” Sansa shook her head and only brought forth the words with difficulty because it was so ludicrous.  “Do you think someone like Sandor would really open himself up to love someone like that?  He mocks knights, he mocks romance, he never fails to tell me when I’m being a fool…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not everyone gets to love, little bird.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His words came back to her and suddenly that shadow of sadness was enveloping her and she wanted to be alone.  Arya seemed to realize this because she strode over and awkwardly patted Sansa’s shoulder.  They were quiet for a few moments and finally Arya made her way to the door.  She turned back just before exiting.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I think,” Arya said quietly, “is that there’s no choice in the matter.  You love someone or you don’t.  If he had the choice, then no - I don’t think he would do anything that might leave him vulnerable.  But I don’t think it’s a choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slipped away before Sansa could think of anything to say in answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor was standing behind Sansa during dinner as usual when Arya strolled into the Great Hall and came to stand next to him, pressing her back into the stones.  He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, but she was looking out over the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want, wolf bitch?”  He muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sansa told me you kissed her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only thanks to years at court with the Lannisters that made it possible for Sandor to show no outward reaction.  Inwardly though, his pulse picked up and his jaw clenched.  His hand curled around the hilt of his sword out of habit.  His eyes darted to her again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You heard me, Hound.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered if she was bluffing.  He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he considered what she’d told him, thankful that the hall was noisy enough that no one could hear their conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you see something?”  He growled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just told you that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>told</span>
  </em>
  <span> me,” Arya hissed through clenched teeth.  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why would she do that?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was nothing,” he said, and his tone brooked no argument.  He was quite adept at seeming like he didn’t give a shit.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to tell your brother?”  He snarled, finally turning to face her.  “Is this your feeble attempt to finally make good on your promise of killing me, she-wolf?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya glared at him for a few tense moments, then rolled her eyes.  “I’d kill you myself if I wanted to.  I took you off my list.  You know that.  I do want to know why you kissed my sister though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was nothing,” he repeated, even though it was everything.  “Long story.”</span>
</p><p><span>“She told me the story,” Arya said.  “Though why she would ever fantasize about kissing </span><em><span>you </span></em><span>is</span> <span>beyond me…”</span></p><p>
  <span>“She didn’t fantasize about it,” Sandor grumbled.  “She </span>
  <em>
    <span>imagined</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re truly going to argue with me about </span>
  <em>
    <span>semantics</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She just...misremembered.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Misremembered</span>
  </em>
  <span>?  She completely fabricated something in her head that didn’t happen and then convinced herself it </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mayhaps she was mad,” he bit out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The issue now is not whether or not Sansa was mad.  The issue is </span>
  <em>
    <span>why did you kiss her</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor was dangerously close to losing his temper and being very loud.  No one seemed to get under his skin the way the Stark girls did.  He imagined they inherited this trait from their mother.  Old Ned Stark had been so calm…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clegane,” Arya growled softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She kept telling me I was too drunk to remember it,” he offered.  He could feel the burnt corner of his mouth twitch in anger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not asking you what she did to annoy you.  I’m asking you why you kissed her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor barked a laugh that was perhaps a bit too loud.  Though it didn’t silence the room, it did draw a quick look from Jon, who just as quickly got back to his conversation.  Sandor turned to the she-wolf, leaning down so he could look her in the face.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She said I gave her a sweet little peck.  Like one of her buggering knights,” he muttered.  “Her imagination is shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that true then?  You kissed her to show her how unchivalrous you truly are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye,” he sniffed as he straightened back up.  “Something like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re an idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re a pain in my hairy arse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here’s another question…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>course…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you think she imagined that you kissed her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya likely thought she was catching him off-guard, but the truth was that he’d thought about it all afternoon.  And even though it was hard to say, he steeled himself for the difficult words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was a young girl who was cornered by a rabid dog,” he said, trying to keep the shame from overtaking him.  “She imagined a sweeter version of what happened because the truth was ugly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya was quiet for so long that he finally looked back at her, and he could tell from the look on her face that his explanation was something she hadn’t considered yet.  She seemed to accept that as her silence stretched on and she relaxed back against the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor turned away from her as well, trying to ignore the twisting pain in his chest at the realization that he was right.  Sansa hadn’t imagined that he kissed her because she wanted to be kissed.  She had imagined he kissed her because the alternative was remembering that he had threatened her, held a knife to her throat, and then left her for the lions.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sansa has had enough playing games for the day and decides to have a chat with Sandor.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa wanted to speak to Sandor, but he was being rather standoffish and Sansa, apparently, was a craven.  As he escorted her back to her chambers, she opened her mouth half a dozen times to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to tell him that she thought they should clear the air because things had been awkward all day.  Every time she drew a breath and prepared to speak, she would stop herself, biting into her bottom lip before she could embarrass herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normally, he would speak to her - or rather, she would speak to him and he would speak back.  She frowned as she thought about this.  She wondered if she bothered him by constantly talking to him all the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sick of you peeping at me.”</span>
  </em>
  <span>  He’d said that to her once, and though it was years ago, she found that it wounded her a little, even now.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she knew it, she was standing in front of her door.  She turned around, prepared to invite Sandor in - </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, after all - but he had already turned his back on her and started down the corridor.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pouted a bit as he retreated and let herself into her chambers.  The fire was going and it was a little too warm in the room.  Her maid wouldn’t be around to help her undress for hours now, so Sansa struggled with her heavy wool dress on her own, a litany of curses running through her head that she wouldn’t dare say aloud.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once she was finally able to remove her gown, she collapsed onto her bed in her chemise, wondering what Sandor had been thinking all day.  He was probably still annoyed with her about the events that had transpired earlier, and frankly, Sansa was still in a mild state of shock to learn that she had dreamed something up and then convinced herself it was true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memory - the </span>
  <em>
    <span>false</span>
  </em>
  <span> memory - had seemed so real for so long.  It was embarrassing, really, that she had lost her temper with him because he hadn’t remembered something that had never actually happened.  She closed her eyes, overcome with shame that she had been so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span> to think he had kissed her that night.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span> had she invented such a thing?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because you wanted him to</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a voice whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps she hadn’t wanted him to do it </span>
  <em>
    <span>that night</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  The whole event was a nightmare and she had been scared out of her mind because of the endless possibilities of what could happen to her - from Stannis’s men attacking her, to Ilyn Payne killing her so Stannis’s men wouldn’t attack her, to Sandor waiting for her in her room covered in blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But afterward, aside from the kiss she invented, she had imagined kissing him plenty of times.  Perhaps she’d wanted to kiss him before the night of the Blackwater and just hadn’t realized it.  She wanted to kiss him again so badly that she was tempted to go to his room and beg for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And what could he do, other than possibly turn her away?  She had been through far more pain than a little rejection from him might cause, hadn’t she?  She pushed herself up in bed on her elbows, watching the fire as her resolution grew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was going to kiss him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor had kissed her after all, and it didn't seem to be something he was averse to, so Sansa figured she might as well take advantage of the opportunity until he explicitly told her to stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor’s mood did not improve once he sat down to eat his supper in his room.  He had seen Sansa to her chambers safely and turned to leave without a word.  Neither of them had said much since his good sense had completely failed him in the Godswood, but Sandor was beginning to think it was one more thing for him to be sorry for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn't think he'd take back kissing her if given the chance.  He was mostly just sorry to realize that he'd wanted it so bad that he had subjected her to it.  He was not one to apologize, but their encounter had brought his greatest shame to the forefront of his mind.  He didn’t give a rat’s arse if he ever apologized to anyone else, but Sansa...she deserved to know that he regretted his actions on that night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he finished up his meal, he wondered what he could say to her to make her understand that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> would have truly hurt her.  The image of the dagger pressed to her pretty throat haunted him everyday, even more so now that they had spoken about that night.  It made him physically sick to think about it, to remember pressing a blade to the soft skin of her throat.  Sansa was the one thing in the world he wanted to protect and he had made her feel that her life was in danger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Self-loathing rose in him, though that was nothing new.  He should never have agreed to be her sworn shield.  She couldn’t have been thinking clearly when she’d asked it of him.  And of course, weak as he was where she was concerned, he’d immediately knelt and made vows to her that he’d promised he’d not make to anyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would give her all of them though.  All of the oaths, vows, promises - anything she wanted, if it were something he could deliver, it would be hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she had only asked for his protection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had not asked for his affection, though that was not something he had complete control over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A knock on his door stirred him from his thoughts.  He frowned, wondering if it was the maid already returning to collect his dinner plates.  Usually, she gave him a good hour to finish his food.  He stood from his seat and pulled open the door</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa’s hands were shaking as she rapped on his door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sandor opened it, he was clearly taken aback at finding Sansa on the other side.   He frowned at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you doing here?"  He </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> managed to hide the hint of suspicion in his tone, Sansa noted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I speak to you for a moment?"  She asked politely.  His eyes swept over her and she tried to pretend that it was completely normal to show up at his door in nothing more than a robe and the chemise she’d been wearing under her dress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aye," he moved back from the door and waved her in.  "Shouldn't you have summoned me to your rooms?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa shrugged as she stepped into the room.  She shut the door behind her and leaned against it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lord Snow doesn't want you wandering the halls too much while there are guests…"  Sandor started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not as though I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>wandering</span>
  </em>
  <span> the halls.  I came straight here from my chambers…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Which you should've summoned me to…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa huffed.  "I didn’t want to wait for a serving girl to pass on a message."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He crossed his arms over his chest and she could see it for the defense mechanism it was.  He looked distinctly uncomfortable.   Her heart twisted in her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you want me to go?"  She asked softly, almost willing to abandon her plan with the knowledge that he didn't want her here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed and shook his head.  "No, little bird.  Just don't understand what's so urgent that you had to come </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You come to my room all the time," she reminded him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You have a proper sitting area," he reminded her.  He swept a hand in invitation for her to look at his chambers.  It had a bed, a small table, and exactly one chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh," she murmured, her eyes falling to the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sansa," he said, a touch impatiently.  "What is it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lips felt dry, so she flicked her tongue out to unstuck them and he...followed the action with his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Interesting</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was hardly a seductress, but maybe she didn't have to be.  After all, she had been angry and frustrated with him before when he'd kissed her.  Surely it wouldn't take too much to get him to do it again?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wanted to speak to you about what happened earlier."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes widened so minutely that if she hadn't known him so well, she might not have seen the reaction.  His arms were still crossed over his chest and he was still frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And what would that be?"  He rasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think you know," she said quietly.  She felt heat creep slowly into her cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at her for several long moments.  Then, "Aye, I know." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I want to do it again," she said it so quickly and quietly that she was surprised he heard her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he definitely had because </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> the shock was more evident.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa pushed herself away from the door and inched toward him, her head tilting back so she could see his face as she approached.  Her breathing wasn't quite right, but she knew it was only nerves.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I want you to kiss me again," she told him, and her voice sounded stronger this time, the words coming slower so there was no misunderstanding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face contorted then, and she saw anger flash in his eyes as he closed what little space there was between them and leered down at her.  “Is this some kind of jape, little bird?”  His voice was a growl and standing over her like this, he should’ve looked menacing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Sansa was not afraid of him.  She had known for years that he wouldn’t harm her and she would not be bullied into backing down.  “It is no jape…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snarled at her, leaning down to put his face close to hers, turning ever so slightly so that his scarred side would be closer to her.  “What game are you playing?  You think because you’re a lady that you can get me to roll over whenever you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she told him calmly, her eyes narrowed as she began to lose her patience.  “No japes, no games.  It’s as simple as what I said.”  She took a fortifying breath and repeated herself.  “I want you to kiss me again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You've taken leave of your senses," he muttered, though he made no move to back away from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Perhaps," she admitted.  She swallowed with some difficulty, but managed to push her shoulders back as she stared at him.  "Will you deny me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corner of his mouth trembled and his eyes seemed to darken.  His anger did nothing to dissuade her.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>He can’t frighten me anymore,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, even as his hands shot up to her shoulders and he began pushing her gently, walking her backwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her back hit the door and a little noise of surprise fell from her lips.  But then a hand came up to her face, cupped her jaw.  He bent to her, his face so close to her own that all she could see were his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He breathed against her mouth, "I will never deny you anything. "</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh," the exclamation was breathy and soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was different from the last kiss.  His mouth met hers gently this time, moving against her lips slowly.  She pressed her hands to his chest.  She was thankful he wasn't wearing any armor, only a thin tunic, because she could feel the solid muscles of his torso beneath her hands.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nipped at her lips teasingly and she hummed into his mouth.  If she had known kissing him would be like this…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took hold of her hands and moved them from his chest, draping them around his neck.  Sansa went up on her toes to better accommodate his height.  His hands fell to her waist and he pulled her closer.  When his tongue slipped out to lick at her bottom lip, she gasped and tightened her arms around his neck</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Indescribable.  And Sansa became aware that her body was starting to respond in embarrassing ways.  She felt an unbearable need to press her hips into his, no matter how improper.  Her small clothes felt wet between her legs and her nipples pebbled beneath her clothes.  She pressed her chest to his, welcoming the bit of friction it caused against her breasts.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor seemed to like it too, judging from the growl that rumbled through his chest.  His huge hands were in hair, fingers carding through the loose strands.  It was a gentleness she hadn’t even known that she needed from him.  She was vaguely aware that they were moving, but whined when Sandor broke away to take a seat on the bed.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a look of apprehension that crossed his face and Sansa found that she was terrified that this was the end of it.  But before she could think of what else to say to make him kiss her again, his hands went to her hips and he pulled her closer to stand between his knees.  With him sitting and her standing, their heights were closer, and this seemed to have been his goal all along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips found hers again and Sansa closed her eyes, sliding her hands back around his neck.  She hadn’t kissed many men, but it seemed to her that Sandor was superior when it came to kissing.  Then again, it could be that she just wanted to kiss him more than she’d wanted to kiss anyone else.  Every brush of his tongue, every light nip to her mouth made her a little more breathless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, she found herself sitting on one of thighs.  It was improper, of course, but Sansa couldn’t find it in her to care.  The longer they kissed, the bolder she became.  She found enough courage to move her hands to his face, laying her hands on either cheek.  He flinched when she touched his scars and she pulled back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It hurts?”  She whispered, lifting her hand no more than an inch off the burned skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he rasped, and then his hand covered hers and guided it back to his scarred cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She brushed her thumb across the twisted tissue beneath his eye, then repeated the caress with her lips.  His hands dug into her hips, not painfully, but enough that she pulled back to give him a curious look.  He looked...laid open, more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him.  She could see questions in his eyes, ones that she would gladly answer if he would only give them a voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was odd, Sandor thought, that of all the fantasies he had entertained involving Sansa Stark that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> somehow topped them all.  It was laughable.  They were clothed (mostly) and Sandor hadn’t touched her </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> inappropriately, but somehow at the moment Sandor could not imagine anything he wanted more than what he had - which was the woman of his dreams sitting on his lap and touching his scars like they weren’t the hideous disfigurement they were, but instead something precious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And not only had she touched them with her hands, she had </span>
  <em>
    <span>kissed </span>
  </em>
  <span>them.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Crazy little bird</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her pretty little brow furrowed and she frowned at him.  “Why am I asking if it hurts, or…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bit back his impatience and shook his head.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span> was what he should have asked from the beginning when she said she wanted him to kiss her again, but his mind had been moving too slowly to ask the proper question.  “Why did you want me to kiss you, Sansa?  Are you that-”  He stopped, searching for a word that would adequately explain this turn of events, “ - desperate?  Are you so lonely you would kiss a dog…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it,” she hissed, sounding harsher than he’d heard her in a while.  “Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When he saw the tears gathering in her eyes, he felt a stab of guilt.  He pulled her closer, even as she turned her face away from him.  “I don’t want to fight you, Sansa,” he told her quietly.  “Help me understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not lonely, nor am I desperate.  Don’t you think that if I wanted someone to kiss me that I would at least find someone more convenient?  Someone that I was expected to kiss?”  Tears choked her voice and she dabbed at her eyes, her face still turned away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached up and grasped her chin gently, then turned her to face him.  “Explain it to me, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her pretty blue eyes dropped from his face down to his chest and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.  “I don’t know how to explain it to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor closed his eyes for a moment and pleaded with whatever gods were listening for patience with this woman.  He had always been forthright and blunt in his speech, and anyone who didn’t also make a habit of this managed to irk him.  He took a deep breath and looked at her again.  She was peeking at him from beneath her lashes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do your best,” he said, his tone somewhere between a plea and a demand.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stared at him for several seconds, unblinking, and he thought his brave little bird would turn craven for a moment - but then, she lifted her chin and met his eyes straight on.  She looked terrified, but resolute, and he could respect that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not complicated, truly,” she admitted softly.  “But will you promise me not to be angry?  No growling or yelling or accusing me of playing games?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye,” he muttered.  “I’ll be calm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded and took a moment to steady her shallow breathing.  Her lips turned up in a sad sort of smile and Sandor found his eyes drawn there as she said, “Yesterday when I told you that I knew that I would never love Beren Tallhart or Larence Hornwood - it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> because I thought I should already have felt something for them.  There’s something else… I can’t love them because I’m in love with you.  That’s why I wanted you to kiss me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And though he had watched her mouth form the words, though she had been close enough to him that he couldn’t have misheard her, his eyes jerked back up to hers in shock.  He felt something in his chest twist painfully at the look in her eyes, as though it cost her something to tell him, as though she was conceding some ground to him somehow.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you don’t feel the same,” she rushed on, watching him warily.  “But I also know you feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  I refuse to believe you kissed me earlier - and just now, for that matter - because you were trying to teach me a lesson.  It’s ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This woman</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such a little fool,” he said, though there was no bite to his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him that same sad smile.  “I know, but...I can hardly help how I feel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snorted softly and shook his head.  “Not that, Sansa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head in confusion.  And he supposed it was his fault that she was confused because it was taking an effort for him to formulate a coherent thought, much less an actual sentence.  Sansa was patient, though - certainly more patient than him.  So she sat there and waited for him until he could speak without spouting nonsense.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sansa felt relief to have finally told him how she felt.  She hadn’t known before that it would make her feel lighter, as though a burden had been lifted.  What was there to fear?  She knew that he didn’t love her, knew that his reaction might be harsh, and since she was prepared for all that, she found that there was no outcome that she could not handle.  There had been so many times in her life when she had felt weak, helpless, and trapped, but this was not one of those times.  She felt brave and powerful.  She had laid herself open for him and she was still alive after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that he’d called her a fool was not groundbreaking either.  It was the second time in as many days that he’d called her foolish and, contrary to what most people thought of her, she had tough skin.  Sandor was partially responsible for that, having spent a considerable amount of time speaking his harsh truths.  But while she was relieved, she also felt trepidation as she sat waiting for him to finish his thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers and one hand snaked around her neck, fingers tangling at her nape.  She wondered if he would kiss her again rather than speak, which Sansa found she was not opposed to at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His words, when he spoke, could have been harsh had his tone not been so gentle.  “You’re a fool, Sansa,” he repeated, “How can you be so blind?  How can you look at me everyday and not know?  Did I not tell you that I would never deny you anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted to pull back to get a better look at his face, but he held her against him, their faces so close that his lashes brushed her skin when he blinked.  He released a shaky breath that warmed her skin.  She wanted to urge him on, to ask questions, but she sensed he would get there in his own time.  Continuing to practice bravery, Sansa pressed a soft kiss against his mouth for encouragement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, that seemed to be all the motivation he needed, for he began speaking quickly and quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How could you not know by now that you mean more to me than anything else?  How could not know that I would die a thousand times - that I would burn over and over again just to keep you safe?  You changed me, Sansa.  Everything that I thought I knew about the world, you turned on its head.  My world was ugly and cruel.  But you were kind when I didn’t deserve it.  I hated you because you believed in the same things I believed in before Gregor burned it out of me.  And I didn’t want you to have to get burned to realize how ugly the world could be.  I told myself that I was doing it for you, to open your eyes in the gentlest way that I could.  But I was doing it for me - because I couldn’t bear the thought of you thinking the world was a beautiful place only to be burned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hated you back then, but I loved you too,” he told her, his voice quieter when he said it.  “Still do.  Because even after all the ugly things you’ve been through, you’re still kind.  I don’t hate you anymore, but I still love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa’s breath hitched as her chest surged with warmth.  He loved her too.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>He loved her too</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  She had no words, so she kissed him, hungrily, much like he had kissed her in the Godswood.  She might have lacked in technique, but judging from the low groan he emitted, Sandor didn’t seem to mind.  Never pulling his mouth from hers, he rearranged them, flipping Sansa so her back was to the bed as he straddled her hips.  It was a callback to that night - the night she thought he’d kissed her, but this time the kiss was real and there was no dagger at her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was careful to hold his body away from hers, even as Sansa tried to tug him down to her.  She wanted him to touch her everywhere.  She tentatively brushed her tongue against his, attempting to mimic what he had done earlier.  He growled into her mouth and deepened the kiss.  Sansa had almost mustered up enough courage to arch into him when a pounding at Sandor’s door had them springing apart.  He was off the bed and several feet away from her by the time she sat up.  Her heart hammered wildly in her chest at the knowledge that they were about to be caught.  She looked up to Sandor, hoping he had some idea of what to do next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He breathed heavily and glared at the door.  “That’ll be the maid,” he hissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa scrambled out of the bed just as the unbolted door swung open.  The maid pointedly didn’t look at Sandor, but seemed to sense another presence in the room.  Her eyes swung to her left and landed squarely on Sansa - who could do nothing to hide the fact that she was half-dressed with messy hair and flushed skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The maid’s eyes widened as she finally looked at Sandor, who was about as well put-together as Sansa, which was not at all.  Sansa struggled to find something to say - she could beg her to keep quiet, or threaten her (though she didn’t think she could truly manage that), or perhaps come up with some valid explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“L-lady Sansa,” the maid stuttered, and Sansa could tell from the look on the maid’s face that her next words were not going to be welcome ones -  “what has he done to you?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After the maid leaves...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor’s first inclination was to snarl at the bloody maid and tell her he had done nothing to the little bird that she didn’t want.  His temper spiked and he opened his mouth to lay into her, but thought better of it when he caught sight of Sansa.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was...breathtaking.  He had the urge to push the maid out of the room and go back to what they were doing before they were interrupted.  Her hair, which she had failed to tie back or plait before coming to his room, was a mess.  Some of her curls were plastered to her face.  Her cheeks were flushed and her sweet little mouth was red and swollen.  Her robe had come undone and beneath that, he could see the thin chemise, doing little to hide the shape of her hard nipples.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His cock twitched in interest, so he quickly looked away from her, admitting that perhaps the maid had a right to her accusatory question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa closed her eyes and took a breath before addressing the maid.  “Kari, is it?”  Sansa asked.  The maid nodded.  “Right, I know this doesn’t look, erm, proper, but…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The maid’s eyes darted to Sandor and she took a step toward Sansa.  “We can go to Lord Snow right now, my lady.  I can tell him…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!”  Sansa hissed, glaring at the girl.  “That is unnecessary.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But my lady…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing improper has happened here,” Sansa insisted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor rolled his eyes.  Sansa’s lying had improved, that much was true, but she was standing in front of a servant looking properly debauched and telling the girl that nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>improper</span>
  </em>
  <span> had occurred.  She would have done better to just admit they’d been fooling around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The maid’s eyes swung back and forth between Sandor and Sansa, clearly not buying what Sansa was trying to sell.  Sandor watched with some amusement as Sansa seemed to lose her patience as the maid kept standing there.  He could see her temper fighting with her good manners.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“May I ask why you’re still here?”  Sansa said through gritted teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I came for Clegane’s dishes,” Kari said, and scampered over to collect them.  She kept shooting Sandor worried glances as though he’d pounce on her at any moment and wring her neck.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The idea </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>have its merits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The maid finally left the two of them alone, but Sandor stood in the same spot, watching Sansa carefully.  Her eyes were on him too, bright blue boring into him as if she could see everything in his head.  Mayhaps she could - not that there were any secrets left.  He had spilled everything to her earlier when he’d let his guard down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But </span>
  <em>
    <span>gods</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she had told him she was in love with him.  And looking at her now as she stared at him- it wasn’t as though Sandor could claim to be an expert on what a woman in love looked like, but she was certainly looking at him with some kind of feeling.  It looked like what he </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> for her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why have you not closed and barred the door?”  She asked softly, a small smile on her lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he looked back on it later, Sandor knew he should have kicked her out right then.  While he certainly had a history of visiting her in her rooms, she had never come to his room, and during his visits, Sansa had been fully dressed.  They had almost been caught.  He had managed to separate himself from Sansa in time, so the maid couldn’t truthfully claim to have actually seen anything, but he wasn’t sure it mattered considering Sansa’s state of undress.  The smart thing would have been to turn her out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he didn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked purposefully to the door, closed and barred it.  Then he turned back to her, unsure what to say, only knowing that he had no desire for her to leave.  She was still giving him that </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span>, all soft eyes and parted lips and he was weak for her.  And he was tired of pretending she didn’t affect him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closed the space between them in a stride and he was holding her once again, his arms circling her waist beneath her robe, his mouth crashing to hers.  Her hands cupped each side of his face, holding him tenderly and wasn’t that curious?  No one had ever shown him tenderness, no one but her, and he knew this was part of the power she held over him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor had never been overly fond of kissing before, but it usually stemmed from trying to keep his face as far away from his partner as possible.  With Sansa, he found that he could do this all day and night.  The way she tasted, her response to his mouth on hers, it was a heady thing.  He couldn’t have let her go if he’d wanted to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had maintained admirable control over his body so far, if only in the sense that he’d kept a careful distance between his hips and Sansa.  He’d been hard since she had uttered the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want you to kiss me again</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  But Sandor’s overexcited cock was not Sansa’s problem, so he had kept himself from pressing against her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, though, she was making the prettiest noises as he licked into her mouth.  Now, one of her hands had found its way into his hair, her slender fingers tangling in the strands.  Now, he could feel her pebbled nipples pressing into his chest through his tunic.  With a hand at the small of her back, he pulled her closer, dimly aware that this would put her in contact with his hardness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her startled gasp made him pull back, but she tugged at his hair and pulled him back down to her.  The angle was becoming uncomfortable - Sandor was bent at the knees and the waist in order to accommodate Sansa.  He guided her back to the bed, having every intention of sitting them down, but when Sansa’s legs hit the bed, she lost her balance and collapsed with a soft laugh.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor stood over her for a moment, looking down in awe at the smile stretching across her lovely face and how bright her eyes shined.  She readjusted herself so that her head was at his pillow and then held her arms open.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What could he do, but fall into them?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He crawled into the cradle of her legs and covered her body with his.  He kept most of his weight off her and braced on his arms, but he didn’t shy away from contact with her now.  She was soft and warm beneath him, and he took a few moments to look at her.  Her copper hair shone against the white of his bedclothes.  Her lips were swollen and bruised from his attention, but they had never looked more tempting.  He licked at them gently in some bid to soothe the abuse they had taken and she whimpered into his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sansa…”  He didn’t know what he meant to say - there were so many things he felt and not enough words to form his thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will you-”  Her words fell short with a sharp intake of breath.  She licked at her lips as she considered what she wanted to ask him.  “Can you-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pressed a kiss to her chin, then her jaw, and just under her ear.  It was meant to reassure her, to let her know he was listening and he would be patient with her for once.  But it seemed that she couldn’t find the words to convey what it was she was asking.  Instead, she closed her eyes and took a breath, as though she were fortifying herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then she rolled her hips against his.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa was not experienced.  She only knew what to do in theory, though Myranda Royce had done her best to educate her in this regard.  Judging from Sandor’s pained groan and the way he buried his face in her neck, she was not too far off the mark in what she was trying to accomplish.  So she did it again, and this time, the press of his length against her touched something it hadn’t the first time, and she hissed in pleasure, her fingernails digging into Sandor’s shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> He was panting against her neck now, his muscles tense beneath her hands as though he was fighting the urge to move.  She needed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>keep</span>
  </em>
  <span> moving though, and she was sure that if he moved with her that the two of them could discover something groundbreaking.  She kissed his cheek and nuzzled her nose against his ear.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you move?  Please, I-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she could finish the thought, Sandor had pushed his hips into hers, then rolled them up in such a way that had a moan falling from her lips.  She was wet between her legs, she could feel it, and she wondered if he could feel it too.  She didn't know whether the thought embarrassed or aroused her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Inexperienced, she was - but not completely stupid.  She knew this was leading somewhere.  Every press of Sandor’s hips against her own promised a steady climb and an inevitable fall.  The last remnants of the girl Sansa had once been - the girl who would have shied away from something so scandalous - wanted to hide her flaming cheeks in the pillow as she turned away, wanted to ignore everything she was feeling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the woman she was now - the woman who was helplessly in love with the man moving above her, the creature inside her who seemed to be made entirely of desire - craved whatever lay on the other side of this maddening pleasure.  She could hardly focus on kissing him, so consumed was she with the sensations rolling through her body.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, one of his hands moved from the spot by her head.  It trailed down her body, sliding over the curve of her waist, the swell of her hip, until he reached her thigh.   He squeezed it in his huge hand and Sansa would swear the heat of his skin was burning through the fabric of her gown.  He tugged at her gown and his hand found the bare skin of her thigh.  She gasped into his mouth and, though her eyes were closed, she knew he was smiling, could feel the corners of his lips curl upward against her own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of their own accord, her hips lifted, seeking the friction that had been removed when Sandor lifted her gown.  A deep, rumbling sound rattled his chest as she whined in frustration.  Was he laughing at her?  She shifted restlessly, trying to restrain herself from begging him to touch her again.  Just as she was about to concede defeat and ask him nicely to put his hands on her, she felt a feather-light brush of his fingers against the gusset of her smallclothes and sucked in a breath.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she peeped as she felt her hips jerk involuntarily.  She opened her eyes to find that he was staring at her intently, as though he was watching for some kind of sign by reading her expression.  If he was looking for hints that he should stop, he wouldn’t find them by looking at her.  She lifted her hips again, expectantly, and arched a brow in challenge as she stared into his silver-grey eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mouth twisted in something like a wry smirk and he shook his head.  He blew out a breath, then slowly, brushed his fingers against her clothed sex again.  And </span>
  <em>
    <span>gods</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it was everything.  She had never felt anything like it.  Even the times that Sansa had been brave enough to touch herself down there couldn’t compare to </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>touching her there.  When he did it a third time, applying more pressure, Sansa bit into her bottom lip to keep from crying out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her fingers dug into the rough material of his tunic, suddenly wanting nothing more than to feel his bare skin.  She tugged at it as he watched her in undisguised amusement.  She frowned up at him, which only made his mouth twitch into something closer to a real smile.  He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Something you want, little bird?”  He rasped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Off,” she told him, seemingly unable to make the request in a polite manner.  Not that it was truly a request.  If he didn’t start removing clothes immediately, she was not above using her </span>
  <em>
    <span>lady’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> voice to demand that he undress.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He studied her for a few moments, his mouth still turned up in a smirk, then he sat up, reached for the back of his tunic, and shed it obediently.  On his knees, hovering over her, Sansa took in the wide breadth of his shoulders, the massive chest, and the tight muscles of his stomach.  His torso was covered in soft-looking black hair, interrupted here and there by scars, some small and silvery, others large and pale pink.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She swallowed hard as her eyes trailed down to where the hair disappeared into his breeches.  Her mouth went dry as she dropped them lower to the well-defined outline of his manhood.  She darted out her tongue to lick at her dry lips, and when she glanced back at Sandor’s eyes, she could see that he was watching her mouth.  With a rush of bravery, she sat up and pulled her gown over her head, shivering when the cool air touched her naked skin.  She lowered herself back to the bed and fought the urge to cover herself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was blushing.  Turning pink from her cheeks all the way down to her perfect chest.  He wanted to touch her, and it seemed like maybe she wanted him to touch her, but he was frozen in place.  His fingers curled inward to his palm in an attempt to stop himself from reaching out.  She was trembling, though from the cold or from her nerves, he didn’t know.  Gods, she was beautiful.  He’d always known that, but this -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She extended one arm toward him in invitation and what could he do but go to her?  He lowered himself over her, his nose brushing against hers a second before he covered her mouth with his.  Her lips were full and so soft.  Her breasts pressed into his chest, hard little nipples poking into his skin.  He lifted a hand to cup her breast, thumbing at the hard peak and she rewarded him with a gasp and an arch of her back.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Encouraged, he pulled his mouth away from hers and dipped his head to her chest.  And then he kissed her breast as he would kiss her mouth, lips sucking gently, tongue darting out to swipe against her sensitive flesh.  And all the while, she made the prettiest little noises.  Breathy gasps and desperate whines and barely choked-back moans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gods, he wanted her.  Every part of her.  Every sound.  Every inch of soft flesh.  Every needy cry that fell from her lips.  Every urgent tug to his hair from her trembling fingers.  He hadn’t properly had her yet and he already knew he would never get enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he nipped at her breast, his hand trailed back down, fingers skimming her stomach.  He stopped when his fingertips met the edge of her smallclothes, pulling off her nipple with a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop</span>
  </em>
  <span> so he could see her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her blue eyes had gone dark and her full mouth was parted as she breathed heavily, lips red and swollen.  He could feel her shaking beneath him, but the little nod she gave him encouraged him to continue.  He yanked at the strings of her smallclothes together and the fabric fell open.  Without looking down, he grabbed hold of the thin fabric between her legs and tugged it down, then tossed it aside.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tore his eyes away from her face in favor of letting them travel down her body - her breasts were full and heaving with her uneven breaths, her waist was small, flaring out into shapely hips.  Between her legs, a thatch of dark red hair covered her sex, the curls visibly damp from the wetness gathering between her thighs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor felt like he was burning up with desire.  He wanted to put his mouth on her, he wanted to put his cock inside her, he wanted to fuck her until she couldn't walk.  But he knew she had never done any of those things, so instead he slowly brought his hand to her thigh, just below where she was so wet for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On instinct, her thighs jerked as though to close, but he was sitting between her legs so the action didn't accomplish much.  He looked back to her face to find her biting into her lip.  She was breathing as though winded.  He was prepared to stop, not wanting to spook her, but Sansa must have read the hesitation on his face because with a deep, purposeful breath, she widened her trembling legs and gave a tiny nod.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor drew gentle circles into her thigh with his thumb and then slowly moved upward.  His thumb ran along her outer folds, gathering the wetness seeping from her.  Her hips jerked as he touched her and she emitted a breathy gasp.  He trailed his thumb back down and pressed it against her entrance, not pushing inside precisely, but against her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She moaned and rolled her hips against his hand, more wetness rushing out of her at the movement.  And while Sandor was in complete control and planned to take this as slow as possible, he couldn't resist the urge to pull his thumb away for a moment and lift it to his mouth, sucking away the taste of her from his thumb.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Gods</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he could eat her alive.  She tasted better than he'd imagined and he had imagined a lot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she whined impatiently, he put his hand back between her legs, this time caressing her soft little cunt with two fingers, running them up and down her slit as she got wetter and wetter.  As much as he wanted to push them into her, see how well his two fingers could fill her, he knew he had to be gentle.  It wasn't something he was used to, but for her, he felt he could do anything, make any concession.  His thumb moved up, rolling against her clit, and gently, so gently, he pressed just the tip of one finger inside her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hissed, but Sandor could tell it in pleasure, her hips rocking forward, trying to take his finger deeper, but he adjusted as she moved, determined to avoid hurting her.  He watched her face to check that she wasn’t wincing or too tense, then he pressed in a little more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>gods</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she was tight and wet and hot and he wanted nothing more than to feel those sensations somewhere other than his finger.  But he couldn’t think about that now, lest he get so distracted that he couldn’t touch her properly.  His cock was aching to be touched, so he gripped it tightly and gave it a few squeezes through his breeches, just trying to relieve some of the ache.  Then he captured her mouth with his again, trying to focus on the softness of her mouth and not his painfully hard and neglected cock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sandor, can you-”  She moaned against his mouth when he licked at her tit again, then pushed onward.  “Will you go deeper?  I can handle it.”  She was panting, he could feel the air puffing against his forehead as he continued to give her chest attention.  “Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That word from her sweet mouth spurred him on and he slid his finger in, as far as it would go.  She arched into him, her breast filling his mouth as his finger plunged deep inside her.  Her hands, which had been clawing at the bedding moments before, were now buried in his hair, nails scraping his scalp.  He ground his cock against her thigh, rolling into her slowly to let her feel the full length of it, to let her know how hard he was for her.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Move it,” she ordered, breathlessly, “Please, move your hand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What could he do but oblige?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa’s whole body had erupted into goosebumps when he slid his finger all the way inside her.  She could swear that her body was vibrating with built up tension.  Her thighs trembled around his hips as he acquiesced to her request, pulling his finger out slowly, then pushing swiftly back inside.  It felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Sansa had never felt so good in her life and he hadn’t even taken his cock out yet.  She wasn’t sure if she could handle the sensation of </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> inside her when she felt like she would die just from </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  The sensation was like nothing she had ever felt and she began to have thoughts, deliciously wicked thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He belongs inside me.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How have I lived twenty-two years and never done this with anyone?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I want his cock inside me, I don’t care if it hurts.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I wish he could be my husband.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor had found a rhythm with his hand, and Sansa caught on, moving her hips in such a way that she took him deep every time he pushed back inside her.  All the while, he kissed her mouth, and her breasts, and her neck.  He didn’t say anything, just watched her with something like reverence.  Then the thumb that had been circling over the nub at the top her slit suddenly increased its pressure.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa gasped, her head flew back against the pillow and her feet flattened on the bed.  This seemed to be the reaction he wanted though because he only pressed harder and faster, his one finger and his thumb working in tandem to create so much sensation that Sansa began to feel a tingling at the base of her spine.  It was too much, too good,and she was going to lose her mind if it went on much longer.  She squirmed, gasping as beads of sweat broke out all over her body.  All her muscles were straining and she was gasping for breath so rapidly that her throat was going dry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then the wave broke, and she closed her eyes and bit into her lip to keep from crying out so loudly.  Her whole body trembled and then froze, and she could feel her body tighten around his finger, surely to the point of pain.  When the feeling began to ebb, she felt her hips settle back on the mattress where she had lifted them.  Sandor pulled his hand away from her, wiping it on the bed, before leaning forward and kissing her again - this time gently and slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She trailed her hand down his body, her fingers tugging at the laces on his breeches.  His fingers circled her wrist and gently pulled her hand away.  She wanted to ask him why he stopped her because surely he needed a release as well.  But she was quickly overcome by doubt, worried that maybe he didn’t trust that she could touch him how he wanted because she was so inexperienced.  He kissed her cheek and then her forehead and it certainly seemed like he was trying to ease the blow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You need to get back to your room,” he rumbled quietly, though he made no move to leave the cradle of her legs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted her gone now?  Sansa wondered if she had done something wrong, if she had been too eager, or if the noises she made were too embarrassing.  She had the sudden urge to cry, but she didn’t want him to mock her.  So she nodded her head and wiggled a little, indicating that she couldn’t very well move if he was lying halfway on top of her.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sat up on his knees and looked down at her.  And this look - it was not the look of reverence from a few minutes before - </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> look held something that looked frighteningly like regret.  Sansa swallowed against the growing lump in her throat and, instead of waiting for him to properly move, awkwardly swung one leg on the other side of his body and then stood from the bed.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gathered her clothing and dressed quickly, feeling his eyes on her the whole time.  She didn’t want to leave his room.  Or rather, she didn’t want to leave his company.  If he wanted to come along with her, she was sure they would be more comfortable in her bed.  She opened her mouth to ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but Sandor spoke first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Be quiet as you go.  Don’t need to be seen sneaking around the halls,” he told her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was logical, really, that he would tell her that, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being </span>
  <em>
    <span>scolded</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  He climbed off the bed and walked to the door, unbarring it and sticking his head out, presumably to ensure that it was abandoned.  Sansa walked over to stand in front of him, unable to shake the instinct to kiss him again.  She rose up on her toes, and thankfully, he leaned down, allowing her to brush her lips against his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sleep well, little bird,” he said, and while the words were sweet enough, his voice sounded...</span>
  <em>
    <span>off</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You as well,” she responded, trying to ignore the knot of anxiety forming in her stomach.  “See you tomorrow?”  She didn’t know why she worded it as a question.  Of course she would see him tomorrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye,” he answered, his eyes dropping to the floor, some spot on the stones evidently of more interest to him at the moment than she was.  “Tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa managed to make it to her room before the tears began to fall.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Misunderstandings galore!...chaos ensues...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I must have a death wish</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was the only logical explanation Sandor could come up with for what he had done.  And while he would gladly die for Sansa  under any circumstance, this particular way was not one he had accounted for.  All he had to do was send her away after being interrupted by the bloody maid.  The maid hadn’t actually seen anything, and while he and Sansa were a little disheveled when the maid saw them, nothing could actually be proven.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now, though, well - he had gone and touched her in a spot meant only to be seen by her husband.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought disgusted him for many reasons.  For one, he felt Sansa should be able to decide what she wanted to do with her body rather than have it dictated by her brothers or society or a future husband.  If she were not a lady, no one would bat an eye at her sharing a bed with Sandor.  And even if she didn’t want to be with him, it still angered him that she wasn’t free to do what she wanted.  The more selfish part of him, though, acknowledged that he did not want anyone else to ever touch Sansa.  He imagined that she would not be amused by his possessiveness, but he could hardly help it.  After everything that had happened that day, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> like she was his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck have I done?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As it turned out, that was the question that haunted him for the rest of the night.  The whole day had been nothing but madness.  He had watched that Tallhart shit kiss the woman he loved.  Then </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> had kissed her, clearly forgetting his place.  Then she had showed up and kissed </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t stop thinking about the soft little sounds she’d made or how passionately she had returned his kisses.  When he closed his eyes, he could see her pale skin bared to him, soft curves that his hand fit perfectly, and blue eyes gone dark with desire.  He may have restrained himself from truly taking her, but it was a near-miss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor thought that he would be strong enough not to lose control, not to give into all the things he wanted to do to her, but he wasn’t sure.  He had managed to rein in his desires this time, but what if there was a next time?  What if she showed up at his door again and wanted more than what he’d given her tonight?  He wasn’t sure he had the strength to push her away.  He had wanted her for years and managed to restrain himself, but it seemed that his control was fraying quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, oh, how he wanted to relinquish the control.  There was no wine in the world as potent as Sansa’s kisses.  And the sounds she made- it only made him wonder what else he could draw out of her.  He had managed to keep from completely ruining her, but did he have the strength to do it again if she kept on coming to him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything, and while that was nothing new, now that he’d had a taste of her, he wondered if he could keep himself from going mad if he was never able to touch her again.  Certainly he would never be able to watch someone else touch her.  Just the thought of Tallhart kissing her again, after what they had done in his bed, made him feel a twinge of his old homicidal tendencies.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t do this.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because logically he knew that, even if nothing came of that maid walking in on them, he would never be able to truly have her.  She loved him, perhaps, and he loved her, but Lord Snow was very clear about what he wanted from Sansa.  And Sansa, being the good girl she’d always been, would eventually break under the pressure.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When it came down to it, Sandor was nothing but her sworn shield.  He wasn’t even a knight, and while he didn’t regret it, it was one more mark against him.  He didn’t come from true nobility either - he was the son of a landed knight and Sandor no longer had access to those lands.  Clegane Keep and its lands had been taken back by the Lannisters after Gregor had died.  He literally had nothing to offer Sansa except his sword, which was what he’d done almost as soon as he’d met her again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spilling his guts to Sansa had only complicated things.  He should have turned her away when she appeared at his door.  He shouldn’t have kissed her to begin with.  And no, it should </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>have let himself fall in love with her, but he was smart enough to realize he’d had no choice in that matter.  Now he’d let the two of them get into such a mess he wasn’t sure how to find his way out of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya always woke up with the sun, no matter what time she finally closed her eyes to sleep.  As per her usual routine, she dressed for training, preferring to get her exercises out of the way before the yard was full of men-at-arms.  But because she never skipped her morning meal, because was always fiercely hungry upon first waking, she went to pilfer from the kitchens before breakfast was served.  As she snatched up some bacon, she overheard a group of the younger maids talking a bit too loudly in scandalized tones.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...you </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> go to Lord Stark…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lord Stark won’t care, you need to go to Lord </span>
  <em>
    <span>Snow</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I always knew he was improper, but to touch Lady Sansa that way!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lord Snow will cut off the hand that touched his sister, if not his whole ugly head!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should have seen her!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya crept up on them and cleared her throat.  The four girls gasped in unison and whirled to face her, looking embarrassed at being caught gossiping.  “Did something happen that you would like to share?”  Arya asked the group at large.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A couple of the girls shook their heads, but one, Arya was sure her name was Loreen, began talking immediately.  “Something happened to your sister, my lady!  Something highly improper!  And I told Kari she needs to go to Lord Stark </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediately</span>
  </em>
  <span>…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, something happened to Sansa?”  Arya’s hands balled into fists as she imagined one of the young lords getting too handsy with Sansa.  “And Jon doesn’t know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>told </span>
  </em>
  <span>you Lord Snow is the one who should be told!”  One the other girls insisted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, he does,” Arya said.  She wanted to ask which one it was - Tallhart or Hornwood - but for once in her life, she decided to show restraint.  If the girls told her who had touched Sansa, she couldn’t promise she wouldn’t seek him out herself.  “I need to find my sister,” Arya muttered, “But you,” her eyes landed on Kari, glaring at her for not immediately going to Jon, “You don’t need to delay reporting this anymore.  Find Lord Snow and tell him </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kari nodded her head so vigorously that Arya thought it might pop right off her neck.  She rolled her eyes and turned on her heels, determined to get Sansa to talk.  She turned to start up the steps that would lead her to Sansa’s chambers, but froze in place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sun was barely up.  Sansa wasn’t in the habit of waking up as early as Arya.  And while Arya knew that Jon had already dragged Rickon out of bed and they were likely dressing for breakfast, Sansa was always one the last to eat.  With a heavy sigh, she turned back around and decided to go on to the training yard and work out some of her frustration.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hoped she didn’t run into either of the two stupid lords because if she found out which one had touched her sister - well, she couldn’t promise herself she wouldn’t do something stupid.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa woke later than normal, her head pounding as though she had consumed too much wine the night before.  She supposed that crying would do that.  Part of her felt silly for crying because Sandor hadn’t done anything to her.  Not really.  But the sensitive, emotional part of her whispered </span>
  <em>
    <span>he kicked you out of his room and didn’t properly kiss you good night.  He didn’t hold you afterward.  He’s sorry for what you did.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was at war with herself.  The mature, logical part of her admonished the sensitive part.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t be a silly little girl</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  But then, she had never done anything like what she’d done with Sandor the night before, and when she could separate herself from the disappointment of what happened afterward, the memories were </span>
  <em>
    <span>delicious</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  She had never felt anything in her whole life that felt better than </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  She wanted to do it again, wanted to make him feel that way too.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A nasty thought entered her head, along the same lines as the one from last night - perhaps he worried she couldn’t please him.  She had no experience touching a man, afterall, and Sandor - she knew that he had plenty of experience.  Aside from how he’d touched her, she remembered hearing stories during her time in King’s Landing.  She heard he’d visited brothels, though that wasn’t too out of the ordinary for knights or men-at-arms in service of the Crown.  But apparently he’d had his fair share of serving girls and washerwomen because while Sansa had no reason to hear gossip from whores, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> hear quite a bit from giggling servants.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The serving girls had liked him.  Or rather, they commented that he was grumpy and gruff and half his face was a mess, </span>
  <em>
    <span>but </span>
  </em>
  <span>there were never any complaints as to how he treated them in bed.  He never hit them and he always shared in the pleasure rather than greedily taking his own.  Sansa recalled that sometimes the giggling girls had the nerve to giggle in his presence and he would snarl at them and tell them to shut up and they would scamper away, still giggling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What if he saw her as nothing more than another giggling girl?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, that wasn’t right.  He’d told her he loved her.  That he’d always loved her.  And when she could manage to think </span>
  <em>
    <span>rationally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she knew it was true.  Because while her memory of </span>
  <em>
    <span>certain </span>
  </em>
  <span>events may have been flawed, she remembered well enough how he’d always watched out for her, never lied to her, and later on, how devoted he’d been to keeping her safe.  He had exposed her to the harsh realities of the world because he didn’t want to see her broken.  Perhaps he was one of the reasons she </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> been.  She lay her hand over her heart, almost surprised that her chest could still contain it.  She whispered into her empty room </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love him</span>
  </em>
  <span> a hundred times because it finally felt like something she could admit, even if only within the quiet walls of her room.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he had been so earnest with his words and his feelings last night.  And he had looked at her like she was just - </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wished he was with her right now, or that she was in his room with him.  She never wanted to be apart from him again, even if he was only down the hall.  She had no idea what she was going to do about Jon’s marriage prospects for her, but if she could explain to him, tell him that she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>in love</span>
  </em>
  <span> and that the man she loved felt the same, maybe he would listen.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling purposeful, she rolled out of bed and began her morning routine, washing her face and combing her hair.  Her maid would check in shortly to help her dress, so Sansa chose one of the many dresses she owned in light gray wool with pretty stitching around the neckline, wrists, and hem.  She decided she would wear her hair down today rather than plaited because Sandor seemed to like that way.  When her maid finally came in, she had to rein in her impatience.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hardly helped that the girl - Eloise - was giving her odd, careful looks.  Sansa had already checked her throat and collarbones to make sure that Sandor hadn’t left any suspicious marks on her, but there had been none, so she was unsettled by the way the Eloise kept studying her face as though she was looking for something.  Sansa decided to ignore it because she didn’t have time to worry about anymore nosy maids when she had bigger problems.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once she was laced into her dress, she thanked Eloise and strode to her door.  She knew that Sandor would likely be waiting just outside her door.  He had been accompanying her almost everywhere since they’d had guests.  He was standing on the other side of the corridor waiting for her, but barely glanced at her when she emerged from her room.  The maid shuffled out after her, throwing a quick, curious look at Sandor, before striding quickly down the hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa’s looked this way and that, checking that the corridor was clear and then pinned Sandor with a look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to speak with you before we go to breakfast.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor stiffened and eyed her warily as she reopened the door to her room, beckoning him to join her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll speak with you out here,” he said, gruffly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa’s brows drew together as she stared at him.  “It’s too sensitive a conversation to be had in public.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Corridor’s empty enough.  If it’s too sensitive to speak about out here and then mayhaps it’s not a talk we should have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa loosed an exasperated noise.  “When has impropriety ever stopped you from anything, including coming into my room?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was silent for a few moments, studying her with hard, grey eyes.  “It’s different.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>different</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which is why you should </span>
  <em>
    <span>get inside</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”  Sansa rarely lost her patience and she rarely used her </span>
  <em>
    <span>lady voice</span>
  </em>
  <span> to throw around what little authority she had, but Sandor was about to push her to do both.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He obviously wasn’t scared of her though because he just stubbornly crossed his arms over his huge chest and glowered down at her as though to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>make me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  At any other time, she might have found it endearing, but her hurt feelings from the night before and his current bullheadedness were so discouraging that she felt the fight go out of her.  She slumped, which was something she never did, and turned away from him, trying to collect herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She couldn’t make him do what she wanted and she felt that it must be some failing on her part.  If she couldn’t make the man who supposedly loved her acquiesce to a private conversation, then how was she going to get what she wanted out of this?  If Sandor wouldn’t cooperate, her chances at making Jon cooperate seemed less likely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sansa…”  Her name on his lips had her turning back to him and she was happy to note that there was at least some concern evident in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you will not accompany me into my chambers, then we can speak out here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked half a second from protesting when the sound of footsteps coming quickly up the staircase had them both freeze to listen.  Seconds later, Arya turned the corner and stopped when she saw them.  Her eyes shifted between the two and a strange smirk turned up one corner of her mouth.  She shook it off quickly and turned her attention solely to Sansa.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need to speak with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa frowned.  Why was it that Arya could be so commanding with so little effort?  “Well, I need to speak to Sandor…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure you do,” Arya muttered as she closed the space between them.  “But it looks as though you’ve just </span>
  <em>
    <span>been </span>
  </em>
  <span>speaking to him.  Clegane, you stay out here.”  Arya bodily shoved Sansa into her chambers as Sandor rolled his eyes, but stayed put.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once they were inside with the door closed, Sansa narrowed her eyes at her sister for more or less manhandling her into the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is so urgent that you had to interrupt my conversation?”  Sansa asked, looking down her nose at Arya as she did sometimes when they were children.  Arya had always been more than a little rude and doubly pushy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which one of those fuckers touched you, Sansa?”  The growl demand was almost amusing - that threatening tone in her childish voice might have made others snicker, but Sansa knew that Arya was dangerous enough and now she was a little concerned with the look of naked </span>
  <em>
    <span>murder</span>
  </em>
  <span> in her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa was about to tell her that it was nothing, that it was barely a peck, and that Tallhart obviously liked Arya more anyway...but then she recalled that she hadn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>told</span>
  </em>
  <span> Arya about Lord Tallhart kissing her.  She’d only told her about Sandor kissing her.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did-did Sandor tell you?”  Sansa asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya’s eyes widened comically and her mouth parted in apparent shock.  “Sandor </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he hasn’t killed anyone yet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa frowned.  “He doesn’t go around just killing people Arya.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sansa Stark!”  Arya cut in.  “Did someone put their hands on you when they shouldn’t have?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, ofcour…”  She trailed off.  Technically, Sandor had, though it was welcomed and wanted and </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but probably considered inappropriate.  And while Sansa knew that Arya wasn’t talking about that, her stubborn, inner good little lady tripped over the lie and Arya honed in on this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which.  One.  Was it?”  Arya asked through gritted teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.  “How did you know that something inappropriate happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does it matter?  Who did it and what did they do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.  It was too early for a headache.  “Lord Tallhart kissed me in the Godswood yesterday.  It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> though.  Certainly not worthy of further scrutiny and not at all inappropriate.  I know Sandor didn’t like it - and neither did I - but he must have heavily embellished what happened for you to be so angry about it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arya stood staring at her for a moment, her grey eyes hard as she considered Sansa’s words.  “Nothing else happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!  That’s it.  Everything else that happened, I’ve already…”  She swallowed the rest of those words because that was certainly a lie and Arya was an expert on liars.  She shrugged instead, hardly caring that it was unladylike.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sansa,” Arya looked past her, seemingly out the window, but Sansa could tell she wasn’t really seeing what was outside, but was ruminating over something.  “Sandor didn’t tell me anything about Lord Tallhart.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa stared at her, then blinked at her in confusion.  “Who would you have heard it from then?  No one else was there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully.  “It was the maids in the kitchen.  They were gossiping and I picked up part of the conversation.  Told them they should have gone straight to Lord Snow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There had been no maids in the Godswood.   No one had been there but Sansa, Sandor, and Beren Tallhart.  And why would a maid or serving girl care about some lord kissing a lady?  She supposed it might be something fun to giggle over, but Arya spoke as though this was a very serious matter.  It wouldn’t be the first time that a young maid had been overdramatic when relaying a story, but something just didn’t sit right with her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps Lord Tallhart told someone that he kissed me?”  Sansa wondered, grasping for the pieces of the puzzle.  “I wonder...did he boast, make it seem like it was more than it was?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya looked confused now too, which was a sight, truly, because she always seemed to have a better grasp on the goings-on in the castle than Sansa did.  Arya shook her head distractedly.  “That’s not it.”  She chewed at her bottom lip thoughtfully.  “The maid - Sansa, she acted as though she’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span> it…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know how some of the girls can exaggerate though,” Sansa reminded her.  “Especially when they believe they’ve encountered a particularly interesting bit of gossip.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe…”  Arya said, looking very distracted.  Her brows were pinched together and she was staring off into the distance as though her mind was elsewhere.  “She seemed rattled though, not excited.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa rubbed at her forehead as though to ease away the headache that was already starting.  “The point is that nothing happened, but-”  She trailed off and looked up at Arya in mild panic.  “You told her to go to Jon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya blinked in confusion.  “Yes, of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa groaned and covered her face.  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Arya</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Lord Tallhart didn’t actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>anything.  And now you’ve sent some hysterical maid to report to Jon that…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Seven hells,” Arya hissed, realizing what Sansa was getting at.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need to speak to Jon,” Sansa said.  “Before he decides to toss poor Lord Tallhart out onto his arse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya’s mouth quirked at Sansa’s use of the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>arse</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but she recovered quickly enough.  “You’re right.  I’ll go with you.  Unless of course this was all part of your elaborate plan to get rid of one of your suitors?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa glared at her sister.  “I would never…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya shrugged.  “It isn’t a bad idea, really.  So long as Jon doesn’t kill Lord Tallhart, but then, he’s never been too temperamental.  He’s fair.  But I suppose we should go save the poor lad before Jon starts interrogating him over an innocent little kiss.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa nodded in agreement and turned back to the door.  “Sandor can vouch for him as well.  He was there too, after all.”  But as she opened the door and stepped into the hallway, she gave a jolt as she realized that Sandor was no longer standing against the opposite wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In fact, the corridor was completely empty.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor had disappeared.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Confrontations and concessions.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I THINK there's only going to be one more chapter after this.  Maybe two.  But we're winding down!  This story has been so much fun from getting to write a post-canon, relatively low-stress environment for SanSan (low stress as far as no war going on) to getting to write the fallout of the Unkiss.  </p>
<p>I've rewrote this chapter like 3 times and I'm still not happy with it, but I'm tired of looking at it, so here ya go! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor glared as the door to Sansa’s room closed.  He wondered what the two of them were whispering about that was so secretive that he couldn’t be a part of the conversation.  He heard more footsteps clomping down the adjoining corridor, heavier than Arya’s, and turned his head to see that one of the younger house guards - a lad named Teo - was striding down the hall, looking a bit unsettled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor eyed him suspiciously, knowing that whatever the guard was doing in this abandoned hallway it could only pertain to him or Sansa since it was unlikely that he knew that Arya was up here.  He gave the younger man a nod in greeting as he approached.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clegane, Lord Snow wants to see you,” Teo couldn’t quite meet his eyes.  “Says it’s urgent.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor raised a brow and then jutted his chin toward the door.  “I’ll stop by as soon as Lady Sansa is done.  Lord Snow told me to accompany her everywhere while there were guests.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Teo fidgeted and then shook his head.  “He wants to see you now, Clegane.  He said he’ll send someone else up for Lady Sansa.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why wouldn’t you just stay to escort her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Teo cleared his throat and scratched at his cheek, eyes still lingering around Sandor’s boots.  “Lord Snow said I’m to make sure you go directly to him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor was silent for a few moments, struck dumb at how odd this entire episode was turning out, but finally shrugged, sweeping an arm out to indicate that Teo should lead the way.  He stared at the back of the shorter man’s head as a sense of dread crept over him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor was perceptive, always had been - so he knew there were only a few reasons why Jon Snow would summon him for a private meeting so early in the day when Sandor wasn’t expecting it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bloody maid had snitched.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon paced the length of the small library he had summoned Clegane to, too much pent up energy prompting him to walk from one end of the room to the other.  He wasn’t sure how to broach this with Clegane - not least of all because he wasn’t sure that it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>true</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Jon had never had any problems with Clegane.  Sansa had sung his praises for years and Jon felt that if something had </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly</span>
  </em>
  <span> happened, that Sansa would have come to him immediately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But there was still that small possibility that she was too frightened or too ashamed, so Jon couldn’t take any chances where she was concerned.  He sincerely hoped that the maid was confused, but if she wasn’t, well - the allegations were serious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon considered both sides:  for one, he was no stranger to terrible rumors.  His birth parents had been the subject of scandalous rumors of their own, many of which had not a shred of truth.  However, he also knew that sometimes young women like Sansa were preyed upon and frightened into silence.  Perhaps he should have waited to speak with Sansa first, but she had a tendency to wake later than the rest of the castle, including Clegane, and Jon felt this was a matter that needed immediate attention.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A knock came against the door and Jon called out for the visitor to come in.  A second later, the door swung open to reveal the beast of a man who was sworn to protect his sister.  He closed the door behind him and awaited further instructions from Jon.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon could tell from Sandor’s body language that he was irritated.  He knew that Clegane didn’t truly see Jon as his lord, but rather chose to look to Sansa for instructions, so his undisguised irritation was not terribly shocking.  Though it made Jon curious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Something wrong, Clegane?”  Jon asked casually, though he watched him carefully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clegane’s grey eyes met Jon’s and his mouth twitched as he answered, “Lady Sansa is going to be unaccompanied when she leaves her room.  The she-wolf is with her now, but after she scampers off…”  He shifted from foot to foot, his frown deepening.  “It was you who ordered that she shouldn’t be left unaccompanied while there are guests…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It seemed odd that this man, who was uneasy at the thought of Sansa walking around her own castle on her own, was the same who had been accused of inappropriate behavior.  Jon thought to offer him a seat, then decided against it because if Sandor Clegane </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> done something to his sister, he didn’t much care about his comfort level.  Jon pinned him with a stare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clegane just stared back, the only true sign of his impatience being the twitching on the burned side of his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing for it then - </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clegane, I received a report earlier of some disturbing behavior on your part.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clegane didn’t move a muscle, didn’t even blink, though his eyes narrowed.  “That so?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon was sure that Clegane’s behavior and general appearance intimidated most people, but Jon wasn’t so easily frightened.  He took a few steps closer to Clegane, undeterred by his height.  He watched his face carefully.  “Yes.  A maid came to find me early this morning by the name of Kari-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’d seen it.  A minute twitch around Clegane’s eyes at the mention of the maid’s name.  If Jon hadn’t been watching him so carefully, he might have missed it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She told me that she saw something that concerned her,” Jon continued, pausing in the event that Clegane wanted to cut in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clegane remained silent, but now his eyes flicked to a spot over Jon’s shoulder, and the irritation was gone from his eyes, replaced by something that Jon couldn’t immediately decipher.  And because of the subtle shifts in Clegane, Jon’s stomach twisted with worry.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Had this man done something to Sansa?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what event I’m referring to,” Jon said steadily, and it wasn’t a question.  Because if Sandor wasn’t aware of something, certainly he would have vehemently denied that there was anything to report on in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clegane didn’t answer, but his huge fingers curled into his palm, making fists - and Jon noticed.  Jon felt a jolt of anger and had to fight back his temper as he demanded, “Start talking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clegane’s eyes flitted back to Jon, hard and cold as the steel of a sword.  He remained quiet.</span>
</p>
<p><span>“The maid said that it looked like-”  Jon paused for a moment, a bit breathless with the anger sweeping through his body.  “-that it appeared as though you had </span><em><span>forced</span></em> <em><span>yourself </span></em><span>on my sister.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>Clegane made some sort of noise - something between a growl and a huff of frustration.  He remained quiet for several beats, then said, "I meant her no harm."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Meant her no-"  Jon bit out through gritted teeth.  "Then you </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> do something to her?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clegane glared at the floor.  "Aye.  I did something."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa stood in the empty corridor, puzzled as to where Sandor might have run off to.  Arya lingered behind her, clearly sharing in her confusion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's odd," Arya mused.  "He's taken those orders to follow you around so seriously, and then just disappears…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We don't have time to find him now," Sansa said as she strode down the hallway.  "I don't want Lord Tallhart to get into too much trouble.  Sandor will find me later, I've no doubt.  He always had a knack for sniffing me out when we were in King’s Landing together."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya snorted, "Sniffing you out…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, shut up," Sansa groused rudely, though mentally wincing at her poor choice of words.  "I wasn't attempting to make a Hound jape."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And yet…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were about to descend the stairs when one of the house guards came charging up.  The girls stopped abruptly as the guard paused a few steps below them, a little out of breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Apologies, my ladies.  I was meant to be waiting on you at your door."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa and Arya exchanged a bewildered look before Sansa addressed the guard.  “Why were you supposed to be waiting at my door?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was meant to relieve Clegane, only I lost track of time…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa waved away his excuses, not terribly concerned with why the guard was late.  “Why were you supposed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>relieve Clegane</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guard stilled, his eyes flitting away from Sansa, color rising in his cheeks.  “He- er, that is…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya rolled her eyes and said, “Oy!  Speak proper!  Where’s Clegane?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guard gave Arya a look of mild irritation, but didn’t dare talk back to her.  “He’s with Lord Snow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span> would Jon summon him when he’s been so determined that I have an escort at all times while we have company?  Could he not have just waited until Arya and I were done speaking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guard gave her an odd look, then shot that same look to Arya, who looked no more than a few seconds away from strangling the poor guard.  Finally, he said, “I thought it would be obvious why he was called away, considering…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya, ever the short-tempered of the two of them, stomped her foot in frustration and snarled, “Considering </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guard frowned at Arya.  “Considering there’s been word that Clegane was inappropriate with Lady Sansa.”  He darted a quick look back down the staircase, as though worried someone would overhear.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa practically felt the blood drain from her face, her entire body going cold as fear washed over her.  Something wasn’t right.  There was something, </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>she was just barely missing - she could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.  Her eyes moved to her sister, who looked bewildered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clegane…?”  Arya asked incredulously, then shook her head.  She rubbed at her forehead before her eyes darted back up to the guard.  “What do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> Clegane was inappropriate with Lady Sansa?  Did you see something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no one in the Godswood, Sansa knew that.  But there </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> someone who had burst into Sandor’s room unannounced and found them, if not in a compromising situation exactly, then certainly a suspicious one.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sansa thought with mounting anxiety.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Gods.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guard shrugged, his cheeks coloring as he avoided Sansa’s eyes.  “I saw nothing,” he said.  “But there’s been talk, of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arya…”  Sansa murmured, a wave of nausea hitting her as realization settled in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her sister ignored her.  “Talk?  Talk of what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guard glared at her, obviously accustomed to being bullied by Arya and familiar enough with the Stark girl to show his distaste without fear of punishment.  “The maids talk, my lady.  One reported an incident to Lord Snow this morning…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa felt slender fingers circle her wrist as Arya turned wide, grey eyes on her.  “Sansa…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa blinked away some of her stupor and focused on the look on Arya’s face, which she felt likely matched her own.  “What is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya rarely panicked.  It just wasn’t in her nature.  And while Sansa wouldn’t call her label her reaction as true panic, it was likely as close as Arya ever got to it.  Sansa could see the anxiety flicker in her sister’s eyes and noted the muscle jumping beneath her eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sansa, we have to go.  Now.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Right now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  We have to find Jon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tugged at Sansa’s wrist and pulled her after her down the stairs, nearly knocking the poor guard over in her haste.  Sansa lifted the hem of her skirts, trying to follow after her without tripping down the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oy!  Wait a bloody moment!”  the guard called after them.  “I’m supposed to be escorting Lady Sansa!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bugger off,” Arya snarled over her shoulder.  “She’s got me, doesn’t she?”  Arya reached the end of the stairs and made an immediate left, heading toward Rickon’s solar where business was usually conducted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa’s heart was in her throat as possibilities of what might happen ran through her head.  She barely saw the few people that she and Arya passed on the way to Rickon’s solar.  Once they made it to the corridor where the master’s chambers were located, Arya barged into the room without so much as a knock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rickon jerked awake on the sofa he was napping on, blinked blearily before his eyes widened, and then he jumped up, attempting to straighten his wrinkled clothes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Err…”  he said unhelpfully, meeting Sansa’s eyes sheepishly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’s Jon?”  Arya demanded, looking around the solar as if he would appear from thin air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rickon shrugged.  “Don’t know.  I wasn’t expecting him back for some time, said he had business to attend to…”  their brother’s eyes flicked over to the scrolls spread out over the table that he was undoubtedly meant to be studying.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rickon,” Sansa said as calmly as she could manage.  “Why is Jon not </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span> handling his business?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rickon scratched at the back of his neck,  “He didn’t want to be interrupted.  People are in and out of here all the time and he said he needed privacy…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For what?”  Arya demanded.  “What was his business?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know…”  Rickon groaned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where is he, Rickon?”  Sansa demanded, proud that her nerves weren’t detectable in her voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rickon shrugged again, testing Sansa’s patience.  “Don’t know...just...maybe don’t tell him I fell asleep…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya strode across the room and poked at her brother’s chest, tilting her chin up to look at him.  “Listen, little brother.  We need to find Jon </span>
  <em>
    <span>right now</span>
  </em>
  <span>…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rickon pushed away her hand and scowled at her.  "Check his solar.  It’s smaller, but he’s not as likely to be disturbed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Sandor saw it, there was nothing to do but tell the truth.  He wasn’t a liar.  He had lied for Sansa before, of course, but what purpose would it serve now?  He could tell Jon Snow that the maid was desperate to create a little gossip and that she saw nothing out of the ordinary.  He could create some elaborate lie and tell him that Sansa was trying to get caught doing something scandalous to deter her suitors (though Sandor could never make himself tell a lie that would hurt her reputation).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the fact was that they would be caught eventually if they carried on like this, wouldn’t they?  Sansa had sought him out last night because she wanted to be with him.  No amount of discouragement would sway her, Sandor knew.  He could talk to her until he was blue in the face about how bad he was for her and how bad of an idea it was for them to carry on an affair, but the fact was that Sansa was a romantic.  And she loved him.  He knew she did.  She had bared her soul to him and he had done the same and he couldn’t find it in himself to insult her by trying to convince her that she didn’t truly love him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because he loved her, though, he felt his next course of action was for the best.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No use in her being ruined by scarred old dog sniffing for scraps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clegane,” there was a warning in Jon Snow’s voice, though it hardly phased Sandor.  He was only delaying because he wanted to find the right words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s been inappropriate behavior,” Sandor said slowly, quietly.  “On my part.  But it wasn’t unwelcome.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s dark grey eyes were wide and blazing with anger.  His breathing was a little off as well, and Sandor could only imagine what horrors were going through Jon’s head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t lay with her,” Sandor said, “but I did kiss her.”  He strategically left out the part about having his fingers inside her.  No need to push his luck with Jon when he was already under suspicion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”  Snow’s voice rose, but he thought better and seemed to rein himself back in.  “And Sansa...she </span>
  <em>
    <span>let</span>
  </em>
  <span> you?  Or you forced yourself…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anger twisted Sandor’s features and he fought the urge to snarl at Jon.  After a couple of deep breaths, Sandor told him as calmly as he could manage.  “I would never force her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is she upset?”  Jon asked, barely contained rage evident in his voice.  “How could you do this to her?  She trusts you with her life and you...repay that trust by putting her into a difficult situation.  Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Because I love her.  Because I can’t tell her no, even if it’s a bad idea.  Because she’s the one good thing in my life that’s been constant since I met her.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor wouldn’t give voice to any of the thoughts in his head.  It was none of Jon’s business how he felt for Sansa.  Any words exchanged between the two of them were </span>
  <em>
    <span>theirs</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  He only wanted Jon to know that he hadn’t completely ruined her.  And he knew that telling him this now was the right thing to do because at some point, Sandor wouldn’t be able to send her off to her own room by telling her no.  If she kept coming to him, he would eventually give her what she wanted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t trust himself to tell her no over and over again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To Jon, he said, “I want her.”  Lord Snow could take that however he wanted.  It was the simplest of things he felt, but it didn’t make it any less true.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re her sworn shield,” Jon’s voice was quiet, but Sandor could tell Jon was fighting against his temper.  “You’re supposed to protect her from everything, including men like yourself.  You betrayed her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor shifted, the urge to argue almost overwhelming.  He glared at Jon Snow, but reluctantly agreed with his assessment.  “Aye.  I betrayed her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon was quiet for several long moments.  “This is grounds for terminating your service, Clegane.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would have to leave her.  It was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, but it felt like an inevitability.  He didn’t think he could go back to the way they were before.  He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t tasted her or held her or told her he loved her.  It was one thing he couldn’t bring himself to lie about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye, I know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s not here!”  Sansa cried as she threw open the door to Jon’s solar.  It was much smaller than Rickon’s, and much tidier.  But there was no evidence that anyone had recently been there.  No candles were lit and there was no fire in the hearth.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seven hells,” Arya muttered, scrubbing a hand over her face.  “Where else does Jon go for privacy?  The Godswood?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He wouldn’t take someone to the Godswood to question them about </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> sort of thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He could!”  Arya argued.  “Jon believes in the Old Gods.  He might think it’s the perfect place to interrogate someone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa left the room with Arya on her heels, trying to think of another place Jon might have gone.  “Jon knows better than to think that Sandor would be intimidated by the Old Gods.”  Even so, she and Arya hurried outside the castle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa was nearly breathless by the time she and Arya made it to the entrance of the Godswood, but she knew she didn’t have time to stop and rest.  She hadn’t thought to bring a cloak, but as exerted as she was, the bite of chilled air was almost welcome.  She could tell her cheeks were flushed, but she pushed forward, heading deeper into the Godswood.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya ran ahead of her in the direction of the Heart Tree.  Sansa hefted her skirts higher and willed her legs to move faster over the uneven grounds of the woods.  But before she could make it, Arya reappeared, shaking her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They aren’t there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa groaned in frustration, turning in half circles as she tried to determine which way to go next.  She swiped away the sweat gathering on her forehead.  “Should we check the glass gardens?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya darted off in that direction without another word, leaving Sansa to move slowly around the area surrounding the Heart Tree, listening for distant voices.  She moved further and further into the woods, occasionally calling out for Jon or Sandor.  No one ever answered back.  She walked for so long that eventually she found herself on the trail that led to the felled log she had sat upon three days ago when she’d wanted to hide from her suitors.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She let herself collapse onto the log again to catch her breath.  How had everything turned out to be such a mess?  She had no idea where Jon could have taken Sandor, and the longer she sat there, the more helpless she felt.  It seemed that’s all this quiet place was good for - Sansa feeling sorry for herself.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon was going to dismiss Sandor if he told the truth about what had happened between them.  Sansa could only hope that he would lie.  It’s not as though Kari had seen anything truly happen between them, but for whatever reason, she felt that Sandor would choose to tell the truth in this instance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After a long time, Sansa pushed herself to her feet and made her way back to the entrance.  Arya was waiting there for her, pacing back and forth impatiently until she saw Sansa.  She stopped abruptly and the look on her sister’s face sent a chill down Sansa’s spine.  Sansa moved toward her slowly, but Arya closed the distance, peering up at her with wild, dark eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve just seen Larence Hornwood,” she said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That hadn’t been what Sansa was expecting.  She frowned.  “Oh…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya scowled up at her.  “Yes.  He said that he was leaving.  And so is his cousin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?”  Sansa said again, this time a bit more brightly.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Arya said, leveling her with an annoyed look.  “Said that he heard from a guard that Clegane has been dismissed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”  Sansa breathed, her good mood fading as quickly as it came.  “Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Larence said they don’t want to be around while there’s a scandal going on at Winterfell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Movement up ahead caught Sansa’s eye and she jerked her head in the direction of the stables.  Larence Hornwood was limping out of the stable, leading his horse by the reins as he spoke with the stable master.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa frowned.  “When did he get hurt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya sniffed.  “Might be I kicked him in the shin when he suggested he was no longer interested in you-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But that’s what I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Sansa insisted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“-Because Clegane </span>
  <em>
    <span>sullied</span>
  </em>
  <span> you,” Arya finished explaining, glaring in the direction of the young lord.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Gods,” Sansa murmured, horror dawning on her as she realized that they were too late.  “We still have to find Jon.”  If she could find Jon and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>explain</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  It was all her fault.  Sandor never would have made a move if she hadn’t brought up that kiss.  He never would’ve let that first kiss go any further if she hadn’t pursued him.  Now he was being forced to leave Winterfell because of </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you need to find Jon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa and Arya both whipped their heads around to find their older brother striding across the training yard.  He looked troubled and stern and Sansa’s stomach roiled with uneasiness.  She took a deep breath and closed the distance between them.  She knew she couldn’t play the meek little maiden with her brother because he would take advantage of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, she had to be Lady Sansa.  She straightened her spine and lifted her chin and opened her mouth to speak before he could get a chance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope the news I’ve heard is a rumor,” she spat at him, affecting an imperious tone.  “Since you have no authority to </span>
  <em>
    <span>dismiss</span>
  </em>
  <span> someone in my service.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Annoyance passed over Jon’s face before he once again adopted his stern facade.  He frowned at her and said, “And where have you heard that someone in your service has been dismissed?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His tone indicated that it could have been one of her handmaidens rather than her sworn shield.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hornwood told us,” Arya chimed in, leveling their brother with a glare.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s dark grey eyes passed back and forth between Arya and Sansa, regarding them with measured interest.  “And given all the rumors known to develop from all the gossips in this castle, you chose to believe it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa let loose a truly unladylike growl of frustration and resisted the urge to grab Jon by his tunic and shake him.  “Jon Snow.  Did you, or did you not, dismiss Sandor Clegane.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lifted a dark eyebrow in challenge, pausing for a moment no doubt to aggravate Sansa further.  He sighed heavily and then gave a nod.  “Aye, he’s been dismissed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?!”  Arya cried out.  “Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon, please.  You don’t understand.  You didn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>come </span>
  </em>
  <span>to me!  You didn’t even ask me!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s unfair!</span>
  </em>
  <span>  She wanted to wail.  But Jon likely already thought her a childish fool and crying out about unfairness likely wouldn’t help her situation.  She felt tears pricking at her eyes and ducked her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sansa?”  Jon said after a moment, tilting her chin up with a finger so that he could meet her eyes.  “Are-are you crying?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!”  She lied as two hot tears slipped out, making twin trails down her cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He huffed a laugh and pulled her into a hug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had never wanted to hit someone as much as she did right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sansa, I dismissed him because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>asked</span>
  </em>
  <span> me to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pushed at Jon’s chest to shove him away and looked up at him, aghast.  “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s eyes darted to Arya, who also looked a few seconds from inflicting bodily harm on her favorite brother.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He asked me to dismiss him,” Jon repeated, shaking his head.  “He and I agreed it would be the best course of action.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa’s shoulders sagged and she backed away, putting more space between them.  Sandor had asked to be dismissed.  Maybe he wanted to be away from her.  Maybe it had occurred to him that loving her was just too much of a hassle considering what Jon had likely put him through.  She wondered if he was still here, and if he was, if she would be allowed to tell him good-bye before he left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s hand came down on her shoulder and he waited until she finally met his eyes again.  He was blurry through her tears, but she could make out a strange little smirk playing on his mouth just beneath his mustache.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“After all,” Jon said gently, “It would be highly irregular for your future husband to remain in your service.”</span>
</p>
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